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by Tomas Schuman 




* Novosti (pronounced No-vas-tee) means 
"news" in Ru»ian language- It i« also the 
name of » Soviet KG IT* front for espio- 
nage, propaganda, disinformation and 
subversion. Novosti Press Agency (APN) 
network spreads it* tentacles all over the 
world. It serves the ultimate goal of the -,. 
Communist elite - world domination. 

I worked for It. 

To..** David Schuroa", 
: former APN-KGB^eir 




Emblem of NavotH 



i 




Table of Contents 

1. What kind of "press agency" is Novosti? 

2. What do they mean by "propaganda*? 

3. Novosti from roof to basement, things and people In between. 

4. NovostFs "kitchen", or should we say "outhouse"? 

5. One day in the life of a Novosti employee, 

6. What are foreigners? 

7. A loyal and dedicated stepson (or how to get recruited to the 
KGB). 

8. A ride for Look magazine. 

9. No birds with two stones. 

10, In the name of World Peace, 

1 1 . Dawning of ''Detente"'. 



Drawings and covers by Soviet dissident artists Vyacheslav Sysoyev 
and Boris Mukhamedshin 



ALMANAC 
Los Angeles, 1985 



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WHAT KIND OF A "PRESS AGENCY* 
IS NOVOSTI? 

It b "an information agency of the Soviet public organisations," — 
says the official Charter, — "... to promote peace aitd understand* 
ing between the nations of the wo rid J Ever since the Novosti Press 
Agency (APN) av&s established in February 1961, haidly a yeai 
passed without a scandalous evidence of what kind of **public** orga- 
nizations are using APN and for what sort of "information." 

In 1963 the Government Qf the Congro Republic (Kinshasa), 
today — Zaire, capctlcd fot espionage and subversion a Soviet 
correspondent Bank Bcknazai-Yuzbashcv, an employee of two 
Soviet organizations, both equally "public' 1 ; Novosti and the KGB. 2 
Five yeais lalti LhejoumalisLdied in Moscow, officially from blood 
cancel. Unofficially, according to rumors circulated among the 
Novosti staffer, lIic cause of death was a strange Incurable desease 
inoculated into him in a Congo prison by the African "brothers"as a 
Loken of their gratitude Tor Bcnik's far loo active work to turn the 
young Afiicau slate into a Soviet colony. 

In May, 1963 another African country, Kenya* expelled another 
employee of APN-KGB, whose name was diplomatically not even 
meji Liu ned in the Kenya press,-* 

In March, 1966 Kenya was less diplomatic in expelling yet another 
APN-KGB man, Yuri Kuritsin, His name was mentioned. 4 

In 1964, Washington received a Soviet diplomat, deputy chief 
cditoi of a Novosti's maga/ine, "Soviet Life", published officially by 
the USSR Embassy in the USA. His name was Boris Karpovieh, and 
he was a former deputy chairman of Nuvosii Press Agency. Comrade 
Kaipovich lasted as a "journalist" only till January 1965, to be ex* 
pclled as "peisoua noii grata." 5 That did not discourage Moscow at 
all Ever since, that position has been occupied by a KGB man. Pre- 
sently, he is Olcg Benukh, my former APN boss. 

In 1965, a humorous and sociable Boris Korolyov, also known 
among us, Novosti staffers, by the nick-name "ant", arrived in 
Ottawa, His affiliation with the KGB, even his rank (colonel) was 
well known in advance to the RCMP (Canadian counter-intelli- 
gence), and for that matter to the press, But Canadian press at thai 
time was too busy lambasting the American CIA to reveal the KGB. 
Korolyov enjoyed unprecedented hospitality: during the peak of the 
Soviet invasion into Czechoslovakia, in August 1968, Ottawa press- 
club kindly offered its premises to my pal Korolyov to stage a wel- 
coming banquet in honor of another Soviet agent arriving in 
Canada. He was " E 3 1 a vdaV corespondent Konstantin Geivandov. I 
do not know how effective the two comrades were as spies (and if 
there were anything to spy upon in Canada under Pteue Trudeau), 






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Novostt's contribution tn Congo's "liberation" 



but i know that Geivandov was expelled in 1974. whilst Korolyov 
remained and became reknown in the press as a strong "Critic", or 
rather slanderer, of the exiled Kussian classic Alexander Solzhenit- 
syn. 7 

In 1977. in New Delhi, India, there was a handsome and snobish 
Novosti correspondent named Vladimir Sirnonov. It would be a 
waste or time to look for him at our headquarters in Barakhabma 
Road number 25. There were not too many reports by Sirnonov in 
the Soviet press about India. No wonder: Vladimir 5imonov was a 
KGB officer whose duty was not so much reporting from India, as 
attracting the media, diplomats and politicians into Soviet orbit. For 
thai activity Sirnonov had to reside separately from the Soviet 
diplomatic anthill, in a spacious bungalow with Indian servants and 
two cars. According to an American friend ot mine, UPFs foreign 
correspondent Dale Morsch, who met Sirnonov frequently in New 
Delhi, Simonov's attempts at recruitment were primitive, naive and 
rude. Maybe they were ... But India even now remains in the Soviet 
sphere of influence, government of the late prime-minister Indira 
Gandhi all but condoned Soviet invasion in Afghanistan, and hosted 
the Soviet-sponsored "Conference of the non-allied "countries toge- 
ther with Yasser Arafat and Fidel Castro. And Indian press remains 
rather anti-American despite wisdom, subtlely and politeness of the 
American agents, and, possibly, as a result oi "rudeness" of the 

Soviet ones. 

Comrade Simonov's stay in India was cloudless all the way till 
1970, when 3 defected to the West. Later Sirnonov re-emerged briefly 
in Canada as a "press-officer" of the USSR embassy in Ottawa, when 
I was already employed by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation 
(CBC). I would not "be surprised a bit. if my former senior comrade 
played a part in the KGB efforts to unleash Canadian "trudeaucracy" 
on me and get me out of the CBCs International Broadcasting 
service for my "right wing extremism". . , Presently, in iwsS,as I write 
this book, comrade Sirnonov is accredited in New York city as a 
Novosti correspondent and a stringer for the Soviet "Literaturnaya 
Gazeta," Obvious promotion! 

In 1967, Atexei Kazantsev was expelled from Ghana tor espio- 
nage. He was another Novosti-KGB hybrid whom I knew personally 
and met occasionally in Moscow in J 968, between my assignments to 

India. 

From 1967 or, during the annual exhibition "Expo" m Montreal, 
a number of my Novosti comrades were functioning as translators 
and electronic espionage operators ab >ard of "Alexander Pushkin", 
the famous KGB "love boat." One of my KGB contacts gave me a 
lour of the "restricted areas*, the lower decks and holds, of the ocean 



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I 



1967, Moscow, Novosti men (Victor Dubogrni in the center) 
seleb rating assignment to Vietnam, Below; 1976, "Killing 
fields" of Indochina after Soviet "fraternal aid".** 







liner when it was docked in Leningrad between cruises. After my 
defection* 1 used that information (and some photographs) to alert 
the American press and the FBI to prevent admission of ^Pushkin* 
or similar spy-ships to Long Beach harbor during the 1984 Olympic 
games. With my humble com rib ution, I suspect, American conserva- 
tive and patriotic groups succeeded to force the Soviets uV'boycof 
the 1984 Olympics. Good riddance! It was the first Olympic games in 
the history — without dishonest Soviet State glad ia torn posing as 
"amateurs" . . . Also 1 credit myself with an effort to save I os Angeles 
from a small invasion of some 15,000 KGR agents, arriving as 
"guests" for the Olympics. 

At the end of 1967 my former school-mate at Oriental languages 
Institute Viktor Dtihograi was assigned to Vietnam Officially — to 
Hanoi as Novosti correspondent According to "sources" — Viktor 
was sent fothes.n-ealled u liherateH areas"of Smith Vietnam ae one of 
the KGB instructors. At the very time the Soviet junta was talking 
about peace and denouncing the American "war crimes '\ the KGB 
was hurriedly creating a stand-by force of mass terror and oppression 
in the image of the KGR — in South Vietnam. As it became evident in 
April 1975, the KGB efforts were extremely "productive 1 ': half of the 
population ended up in "re-education camps/ 1 

In lune l<)68 r on orders from the KGB, a large group of Novosti 
journalists, including myself, were conducting a secret "opinion poll'* 
among foreign diplomats and correspondents in Moscow: "How 
would their governments react to Soviet involvement in Czechoslo- 
vakia?" Evidently, the KGB was satisfied with the results, for on the 
23-d of August, 1968, Sovie tanks crushed through streets of Prague 
. . . None o( the Western governments ''reacted 1 ". 

And in the morning of August 28, 1968 Novosti Press Agency staff 
was saying last goodbys to two of our comrades, who w r ere burned 
alive when their army helicopter crashed near Prague, while carrying 
a load of propaganda designed to convince the West, that Soviet 
troops were "invited '"to Czechoslovakia by "patriots." Fake publica- 
tions were printed by the APN-KGBin Dresden. One of theroa&tcd 
comrades was Karl Nepomnyashchi. an old-time KGB officer. 

In May, 1976, Novosti correspondent in Japan, Alexander 
Machekin was arrested by the police in Yokohama* when he tried to 
buy secret information from a junior officer from the US aircraft- 
carrier "Midway" docked in Yokohama.* 

Between 1980 and 19155 at least a dozen Novosti-KGB agents had 
been expelled during massive counter-intelligence operations from 
several NATO countries and France. It took Western intelligence 
services* law-enforcement agencies and courts almost TWENTY' 
FOUR Y EARS (!) to start doing something to protect their countries 



against APN-KGB subversion. Why so long? 

15 years after my defection from the USSR embassy in India , I 5 
years after I was debriefed by the American CIA and revealed the 
nature of APN-KGB activity in the "Third World" — more than 13 
countries of Asia, Africa and Latin America had been infiltrated, 
demoralised, destabilised, subverted and some — INVADED by 
military force, and kept occupied . , . And yet, Novosti Press Agency 
is still officially accepted in all the capitals of the world! Once in a 
blue moon. Western bureaucracies "undertake drastic measures", 
like denying an entry visa into USA to a Novosti agent, trying to 
come to some "university conference". It happened recently — to a 
"Russian journalist" A, Makarov. 1 * 

The above list of instances, illuminating the nature of Novosti 
Press Agency is far from complete. What kind of a "news agency'* is 
Novosti? 

1. fravefa, January 4, 1961, Lve.uia, March 23, 1961, 

2. The KGB. by John Barron. Readers Digest, 1974, page 513. 

3. Moscow's Hand in India, by Peter Sagei. Bern. 1966, page 22. 

4. East African Standard, Nairobi, Match II, 1966. 

5. The KGB, by John Barron, page 524. 

6. lor onto Sun newspaper, January 17, 1974. 

7. The Last Circle, collection of article* on Sol/Jicnitsyn. APN, 
1974, 

S. The Montreal Siar t May 14, 1976. 
9. UP J. August 20, 1984. 



The geographical location of Novosti Press Agency is a sort of 
spatial trick: headquarters of the APN located at Pushkin Square, 
right behind the uttra-mnrtern Rossia movie ihcatrc in Moscow, 
while the "branched of Novosti. according to the official Charter, 
are located in the capitals and major cities of 130 countries of the 
world. Yet Novosti foreign bureaus are in most cases not called 
"Novosti" at all — for ihey are attached to or constitute the entirety 
of the Information Departments of the USSR embassies all over the 

world. 

Time-wise it is similarly tricky: the APN exists simultaneously in 
several ems. One ean lind within Novosti elements of the pre-histo- 
rica) Communkm. war-Commit nism of post-revolutionary era, 
middle-ages with its inquisitions and witch-hunts, fascist reich with 
its own Goebfilses, something from democracy of today's West, and 
even certain elements of OrwelliaiHvpe future - the nwspeetk and 
remodHing. of history. 




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The very name of Novosti Press Agency is a beautiful example of 
the newspeak and reminds one either of Orwell's "Ministry of Truth* 1 
or ^Evtushenko's "Ministry of Tenderness. "The fact is, that there is 
no news as they are erroneously and non marxistlike understood in 
the West — as reports about the current events. This son of news 
could easily contradict the prophesies of the founders of Marxism- 
Leninisms and thus give o wrong and totally unscientific picture of 
reality. 

Neither is there any "press'' 1 in Novosti Press Agency, at least in the 
meaning of the word accepted in the West and related to journalistic 
profession. Dut it docs not mean that the APN has no press. "Press is 
the most potent weapon of our Party *\ said the Friend and Teacher 
of all the journalists Joseph Vissarionovitch Stalin — and he was 
right. In the APN the word press is understood mainly as a technical 
term — printing press, or as an abstract term in a sentence: "The 
Soviet Press is the most truthful press in the world" a slogan that 
decorates walls of many editorial offices in the USSR. 

The only word most relevant to the activities of the APN is 
"agency". To understand better the nature of the occupation of some 
500 journalists, 250X1 editors and copy boys, 1000 typists and sec rcta- 
i ies and close t o 3000 technical service staff and auxiliary workers* let 
us have a closer took at the semantics of this term. According to the 
Etymological Dictionary of Russian Language by C.P. Tsiganenko, 
page 16; 

"Agency . , . agent — a trusted body, or a person. The 

woid bonowed from Germans at the beginning of the 

seventeenth Century A.D. "Acting" — participal form 

from the woad "ageie" — Lu move, to uigcto move. Thus 

in European languages, 'agent* — any force in nature oi 

society, which causes movement. See also 'Agitation* . 

Let us see the meaning of m agitaiion. + Tlre wind, as wesliallsee t has 

a lot to link the APN with I lie depaitintul of Agitation and Piupa- 

gattda of the Cents al Committee of the Communist Party of the 

Soviet Union — Agitprop. The relation between the two, the word 

and the departments is not only semantic, but administrative as well. 

So; 

"An activity with a purpose of political tip bunging of the 
masses. From Latin/Agilalio' — movement, activity. An 
abstract noun fruin the verb l ageic' — to eAcile, incite, 
PROVOKE . . ." 
Now we have got to a very interesting word — ''provoke*'. Let us 
sec now what is it exactly the ftPN "'provokes "the masses of people 
to do. A concise Political Dictionary edited by A.R. Dobrnnravova 
on page 5 says; 



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Ms,Angela Davis — a pawn in the APN-KGB DESTABILIZA- 
TION game. She was Novostft "suest of honor" white in 
ih« LISSR. The leaflet above was printed in the USA by a 
Novosli front. 



''Agitation, verbal and printed, is a political activity 
directed to influence consciousness and mood of the 
masses with the purpose of attracting or involving them 
in active participation in solving ol important socio-poh- 
tical and economical tasks. I he means of agitation: dis- 
cussions, meetings, newspapers, radio, television, cine- 
ma, posters, cartoons etc. Agitation is a sharp and potent 
weapon of political struggle between classes and parties. 
See also 'propaganda'. 
Al! right! Let us see what Mrs, Dobronravova and Soviet official- 
dom considers propaganda. In the same dictionary, on page 210: 
"Propaganda — is the process of explanation, dissemina- 
tion and establishing of political ideas, theories and 
teachings. Propaganda has always a vttrss character, it is 
always partisan, Communist Party's propaganda is ver- 
bal or printed explanation and dissemination of ideas of 
Marxism-Leninism and of the current policy of the 
Communist Party. It is an inseparable part of the current 
policy of the Communist Party. It is an inseparable part 
of the political education of the masses. Revolutionary 
propaganda was a reliable weapon of the Communist 
Party in the period of preparation and implementation of 
the armed uprisal in 1917 as welt as on all other conse- 
quent stages of the Socialist construction. Propaganda of 
Marxism-Leninism acquires special importance in the 
circumstances of sharpening ideological struggle and 
class struggle in the international arena. The Communist 
Party of the Soviet Union is constantly perfecting the 
methods o{ propaganda. 
As we see, everything is rather logical, consistent and — most 
important — perfectly honest: translated from the Soviet newspeak 
into passable English t the two definitions above mean the following: 
a) within the USSR or any territory under Soviet control, APN 
"influences" masses of populace to accept the conditions estabished 
by the Party unquestionably and work without strikes or protests. 
Ideologically NovostJ works towards STABILITY, b) "In the inter- 
national arena" i.e. in foreign countries which are not yet included in 
the sphere of Soviet imperialism, Novosti Press Agency functions as 
a factor of DESTAB1 LIS ATION and destruction of accepted moral 
values through encouraging CLASS AND IDEOLOGICAL 
STRUGGLE. 

It could not be any simpler! Both of these functions of Novosti 
Press Agency are evident if one reads the official APN Charter, 
translating the paragraphs of the Charter from the "newspeak" into 
norma! human language. Here is an example of such a translation: 



sfe-ai 



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Official text of the Charter 

I he Novostt Press Agency 
(APN> is an information agen- 
cy of the Soviet public organi- 
sations, operating under Arti- 
cles lib and 1 26 of the Consti- 
tution of the USSR. 



No Soviet Slate organ bears 
responsibility for the business 

activities and financial obliga- 
tions or any other actions of the 
Agency, Nor doet the agency 
bear responsibility for any 
claims against the Soviet State 
or am other Soviet organisa- 
tion. 



The Agency pursues the aim of 
facilitating in every possible 
way the promotion and conso- 
lidation of international under- 
standing, confidence and 
friendship, 



. . . widely circulating abroad 
true information about the 
Soviet Union and acquainting 

the Soviet public with the life of 
other peoples. 



Actual meaning 

The Novosti Press Agency 
(APN) is an extension or Agit- 
prop Department of the Cen- 
tral Committee, established for 
propaganda, subversion and 
intelligence gathering. 



Posing as "independent", the 
APN is in fact a dirert and 
subordinate extension of the 
Party-State bureaucracy, 
which removes from itself any 
responsibility for knowingly 
illegal or imoral actions of the 
APN. 



The Agency facilitates, in the 
way of propaganda, the im- 
plementation of the USSR 
leadership's internal and 
foreign policy, using indoctri- 
nation and coercion on one 
hand, and inciting hatred and 
class struggle and terrorism on 
the other. 



In the USSR; slandering and 
downgrading everything 
foreign if not under Soviet 
domination. 

Abroad; presenting selected 
and censored half-truths glori- 
fying the Soviet way of life, dis- 
information. 



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. . . exchanges information 
material ... on the basis of 
reciprocity. . 



Its aim is not to make profit , . . 
sponsoring public organisa- 
tions participate in financing 
the Agency. 



Enters into contact and con- 
cludes agreements with both 
state-owned and cooperatively- 
and privately owned (foreign) 
media ... to supply them with 
Agpnry rnfltp-rial for an AP- 
PROPRIATE FEE. 



Showering foreign cou utiles 
with Marxist propaganda, 
while banning every foieig.ii 
newspaper, periodical or book 
within the USSR. 

Unlimited budgeting of the 
Agency by the State-Party dic- 
tatorship, absolutely unac- 
countable to any public organi- 
zation or private individual 
whatsoever. The annual budget 
is around 2.4 billion dollars, 

Forcing agency's material upon 
foreign media free of charge, 
more often PAYING tn the 
media for publications nf the 
APN stuff, or using "every pos- 
sible way" — i e hnhery, 
blackmail corruption, drun- 
kenness 




There is no point in going into technical details of the Novosti 
Charter What is important here, and what will be demonstrated in 
further chapters of the book, is: despite the masquerade as a "public 
and non-government", the APN can not be anything else but an 
organ of MONOPOLY PROPAGANDA, an extension of subver- 
sion apparatus of the Party. The functions and aims of the APN can 
not he anything else but those of forming public opinion by the 
methods, which even in the "fascist" nghtist dictatorships are under- 
stood as VIOLATING HUMAN MIND. It cannot be otherwise in 
the society where "The Party is our consciousness" and where 'The 
Party and Ihe People are the one." 

The danger of monopoly propaganda could hardly be overestima- 
ted A Swiss author Peter Sager in his research on Novosti s activity 
in India arrives at the following definition of monopoly propaganda: 
"Propaganda is the attempt to con vine* a greater or le«er 
group of people of the justice of one's own opinion 
(whether ideology, philosophy of lire or religious beliefs) 
through a consciously onesided description nf data or 
events. It is not necessarily bound to any particular noli- 




12 



tical regime. In so far as it works towards spreading 
opinion* by ran virion and not by force* it is used in 
democratic countries as well as by dictatorships. 

As long as propaganda represents one opinion out of 
many and accepts or mrhi encourages the existence of its 
rivals, its onesidedneis k entirely legitimate. Indeed, pro- 
paganda of this kind provides the basis for the free forma- 
tion of opinion. It promotes discussion and is conse- 
quently a characteristic of democracy. 

But when propaganda monopolies the opini on- 
making fuction and all counter- propaganda is exclu- 
ded, so that in the effect the expression of one opinion 
provides the only source of information — then it is 
imposing itself by force- 
Monopoly propaganda is an inescapable characteristic 
of dictatorship. 
During iu existence the Novosti Press Agency clearly demonstra- 
ted itself as an efficient organ of monopoly propaganda. Together 
with the KGB, APN successfully "excludes" (destroys) not only "all 
counter-propaganda", not only information, but the very sources of 
that information in several cases, including foreign sources, such as 
Radio stations broadcasting in Russian language, certain newspa- 
pers, public organisations and individuals. 

Many open societies lived through many painful processes of re- 
evaluation of traditional social values, in many parts of the world 
good will, common sense bad retreated and yielded to the aggressive 
ad\*ncc of the system based on hatred, terror, "class struggle" etc. 
Western media discovered numerous "conspiracies" in every possible 
level of authority in the free world from president to local police. 
But the main source of discontent totalitarian agression, and its 
ideological front— Novosti Press Agency, escaped the critical atten- 
tion of public opinion. The APN and its Kremlin owners remain 
respectable and accepted. The APN publications, booklets, posters, 
caitoons, newspapers, meetings, etc, — have unrestricted freedom in 
iitiy open socicty w PROVOKINODESTABlLISATlON"of the very 
open society. With the dawning of "detente" policy, Novosti has 
gicatly increased its activity both at home and abroad. 

Why this is happening*? Let historians and psychologists answer 
this question. The author of this book, a former Novosti employee, 
takes upon himself to explain HOW it is done and how does it feel to 
be a part of subversive system, while inwardly disagreeing both with 
the dirty methods and "final aims" of Novosti Press Agency. 



13 




Novosti headquarters, Moscow, Pushkin square 



....... ^ 




<Jk 



'5ovlet Press — the most truthful iu the world" 



1* 



INOVOSTI FROM ROOF TO BASEMENT, THINGS 
AND PEOPLE IN BETWEEN 

My iirsl encounter with the Novosii building was in Apiil of 1959. 
1 was in my second yea rat the Institute of Oriental Languages, Mos- 
cow State University. A friend. Herman Belousov. had invited me to 
join him tor a recording session in the studio or what was then die 
Sovinl'orm Bureau. I was to play the guitar, for a propaganda 
program that would be broadcast to Indonesia. 

Herman had been a student at the same institute, whom 1 met 
when a participant in one ol the amateur artistic activities which are 
all but compulsory in such places. He was a talented singer with a 
genius for languages; tall, and of dark complexion, he had large 
brown eyes. With these qualifications he was bound to be popular; 
his only problem was drink, in which he sometimes immersed himself 

for several days. 

I had known Herman only bnelly when I discovered that his 
drinking was the symptom ol a dilterent problem. He had loved and 
lost. So Indonesian did he appear, that he had been the natural 
choice to "infiltrate" an Indonesian delegation which was attending 
an international movie festival in Moscow, as its interpreter. There 
he metTutti.an Indonesian movie star, by his account charming and 
delicate; simple, honest and as yet unspoiled. Their love had been 
deep and mutual, said he. after hall bottle ol vodka . . . The KGB 
summoned him, to say, categorically, that (hey did not approve of 
intermarriage between Soviets and Indonesians, this in spite of I he 
fact that a Si no-Soviet "split" had recently occurred, and Indonesia 
was almost the only "brotherly country "Soviet commentators could 
identify in the Orient. Perhaps actual marriage to an Indonesian 
would carry the stigma of incest. 

My reaction was confused. 1 had thought bet ore that the beautiful 
talk about friendship and cooperation between the proletarians of all 
countries might in fact be nothing but; but I was a member ol the 
Young Communist League, son of a staff colonel, raised in loyalty, i 
had seen Soviet movies in which innocent Soviet citizens were sub- 
verted by beautiful movie stars who turned oul to be Li A: who took 
military secrets and then hoarsely laughed in their victims' faces, 
blowing smoke from Camel cigarettes. I had been taught that love 
iind sex in the West are merchandise. 1 utti was from the Orient . . . 
Even so 1 felt uneasy. 




Vertical quarts* -wave anteiina 
capable oi iniercepung government 

ijmou-sinc cO«T"irt"i\jnic6ti<>n3 



Hiqh-fiequency antenna 
irainerjon Pen i agon 
and State- De pan mem 



■ liqh-ffeqgencY antenna 

rairtfid on CIA 
;ommunicauor'i fao lilies 




The KGB's f cars r at work- I.htpttingfar secrets — and snme(imt% just plain gotfiip 




Most of the el«etronic 
snooping is don* by the 
Novosti-KCB personnel 



Sdv e«ar atop Soviet consulate in San Fran cisc o 
On a clear da\ vou can see a jet take off. 




■'.■''. 



I learned to forgive drunkenness and rudeness in Herman, for 
underneath I found softness and understanding. We were still 
sobering up after a rude evening when we made our broadcast for 
Sovinform, and 1 was hoping that thousands of miles away, at least 
on [his occasion, Tutti would be listening to Radio Moscow. 

******** 

The Novosti building Jn Pushkin Square, isa rectangle enclosing a 
courtyard. The only gate to that yard adjoins a side street, which 
separates Novosti and the editorial oilices ol the "New Times 'The 
gate is well secured; behind it, sheet metal detlects idle viewing. 

In the long corridors, there are those who speculate about the 
building's history. Prior to the Bolshevik Revolution it was, accord- 
ing to one school, a prison for very special guests; according to 
another, an elite school for Okhrana's spies. Afterwards, it was 
appropriated by the Cheka, the Bolshevik Secret Police, and later, a 
school for foreign revolutionaries, under the Comintern. During the 
Great Patriotic War (the Soviet description of World War II), Sovin- 
form moved in. Novosti Press Agency was founded in 196 I, a whim 
of Krushchev on the advice of his son-in-law; Sovinform disap- 
peared, or to be more precise, it melted in. 

Accurate or not, the story conforms to an impression that the 
building was always the most suitable place for the shady affairs of 
our Empire, which are not for the masses' eyes. The building is a tan- 
gible monument to State Secrecy. Let's divulge some of it. 

The roof is a forest of antennae, receiving all possible telex and 
wire services; they are not paid for. This is not as unfair as it may 
appear, for news from Reuter, AP, UP1 and AFP (unless it is bad 
news for the West) never appears in the Soviet press, only on the 
desks of nomenklatura of the media. Nor should Novosti bethought 
the only perpetrator of this little theft; most Soviet embassies are 
provided with similar equipment, (A radio technician could easily 
figure out what they are tuned to by studying the configurations of 
the antennae). 

On the top floor, on the north side of the Novosti rectangle, are the 
teleprinters. They occupy their own large department, separated 
from the translators and typists next door by a huge plexiglass wail, 
with sliding doors and a remotely controlled lock (manufactured, 
incidentally, in the United States). A milkbox opening exists, 
through which manuscripts and messages are passed for transmis- 
sion abroad. Most Novosti employees are denied access; means of 
communication withtheoutsideworlddonot belong to the people of 
Novosti. 



■•■.■-■ 

■■!:;■■;: 



17 

I managed to enter once, for I was on good terms with one 1 yova 
Dzcrdidifnskyi (no relation to the great chatelaine of Lubyanka. as 
far a» I know). I had met him in New Delhi. Already :i trusted person 
there, he was carving his way up the Comsomol totem pole. Under 
his jurisdiction were several huge gray instruments, resembling the 
field radios Soviet private;; affectionately call "whales"- they were in 
consoles, stacked and separated by television screens, across which 
patterns of green dots and dashes moved, comprehensible only to 
him- These were in the maintenance room adjoining, the main hall of 
teleprinters. There I saw about 200 of the cantankerous machines, 
mourned upon tables in long rows. Most appeared to transmit as well 
as leceive messages. The operators would feed them with rolled strips 
of key-punched paper. Today, thanks to generous computer sales 
from the U.S. and Japan, the equipment must be greatly improved. 

An iron doui would need to be unlocked, if one were to esit the 
hall of teleprinters and enter the upper story's cast side. It starts with 
a spooky fire-exit suiiicase, where Novosti loafers smoke and gossip. 
Beyond it lies the CH.AVL.IT loom, the censors, perhaps the same 
two Old men and the fat lady I last saw in 1969, They pored over a 
copy with red pencils, frequently consulting large manuals, the litera- 
ry productions of the KGB. In these would be characterized, by sub- 
ject, the sort of information which \i> "not in accord with state securi- 
ty." Real wages, for instance. 

Beyond the censors' room is a movie projectionist's cubicle, smel- 
ling of garlic and MosKovskaya vodka. Dyadya-Vaaya is the boss 
and the mam consumer of Moskovskaya, Thiough the project ion 
appcrtures uncle Vasya can sec what goes on in the eonference-and- 
movie hall. Most of it is of no interest to uncle Vasya. but it fascina- 
ted me greatly. Here press conferences were held for Western coi ics- 
pondents. I saw cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin here once, unwilling to say 
anything which was not written on cue cards before him. In large 
letters. Mikhail Sholokhov showed up here after his return from 
Oslo with a Nobel prize for stolen novels. He. too, was unable to 
either speak or read, for he was frightfully drunk. I wonder what 
foreign television correspondents made out of 1 hat "interview. "The 
Soviet ambassador to India, comrade Benedietov. talked to the 
cream of Novosti here, trying to explain the absence of logic in 
Stalin's daugther's delectton from India, which he failed to prevent, 
poor fellow. Party meetings are sometimes held here, too. They 
would be of no interest to the Western reader unable to appreciate 
George Orwell, or better, brother Strugatzki's Fable of the Trilateral 
Commission (Troyka — escaped the Soviet censors, probably by 
posing as science fiction). 

Western movies (made in the West) are also shown, occasionally, 



19 



|i 
:.:.-" : 'd 



18 

and to a select audience of Novosti employees, ihrii families and 
some friends employed by solulnye Suite bureaucracies, such as 
TASS, Radio Moscow. Pravda, etc. Here I saw Nevii Shuu^ Or, d* 
Beach, and left it confused, like my colleagues, unable to undci stand 
the omission from it of anti-Soviet rhetoric. A Soviet movie about a 
nuclear war would be full of anti-Western accusations. H would show 
hornble war scenes too. and this did not. (ABC's -Day After lia* 
changed that omission recently . . .}. Human emotions were uoi- 
traved, which a Soviet version would distort. More contusion was 
created bv "The Nuremberg Trials": only an idiot would fail to see 
the resemblance between the Na/.i defendants (who were at least 
receiving a fair trial) and those who occupy corresponding positions 
of power in the Soviet Union, 

(1 have often pulled over the motive for showing these movies, 
knowing from experience that our system always has an ulterior 
motive. Was it intellectual torture'.' Was it a testing ground, to find 
out if those who will visit the West can return with their hypocrisy 
intact?) 

From ihc conference hall, through a reception ansa, one enters the 
south side. It Imaa long corridor, and on its door* wr find the names 
Of the wo i Id V political and geographical regions The world is sliced. 
like a melon, into segments, and the respective Novosti departments 
gnaw at then shares, working lor the ultimate victory of Com- 
munism; to completely devour all of mankind. 1 worked in the 
department fur South-Fast Asia, which is typical of all the depart- 
ments It lends to the ideological needs, as defined by the Pohtbu- 
reau, or India, Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam. Malay- 
sia Indonesia, the Philippines. Pakistan and Ceylon 

Down the corridor wc pass Africa, Latin America, and several 
Other developing areas. My big boss, the editor or South Asia, would 
be found at the end of the corridor: Valery Pu*hkov. a modest and 
diligent eonmide upon whose face was written indelibly the reticent 
expression of a boy who had been caught masturbating, 

Along the western corridor of the upper floor there are several 
Other rooms for several other bosses of various parts or the earth, 
each of them with his own facial peculiarity. 

Finally, wc get to the northwest corner, occupied by the editorial 
board of "Soviet LdiuT magazine, printed and distributed in India us 
an expression of bi olhcrly concern for the ideological upbringing of 
our Indian friends, A disproportionate amount of the work (every- 
thing but the imitation into local languages and printing) wasdone 
in Moscow. I worked on the periodical from December i%S lo 
March 1967, 1 was chosen for my task, the writing of economic 



stories, for my qualifications; \ had been a translator lot the Soviet 
economic aid group which constructed refineries ai Koyali and 
Barauni. Soviet monuments m India. I can speak Hindi and Urdu. 
Besides, while on my first assignment to India. I was a ""voluntary 1 '' 
distributor of "Soviet Land" magazine among the Indian workers at 
the construction projects. 

As we walk to the north side of the rectangle, we see a typists' hall 
on one side, a translation department on the other. The typists fall 
into three categories; unmarried, divorced and separated They are 
ruled by an austere Madame. 

The translators are of various ages, sexes and nationalities. Many 
are the offspring of foreign communists who came to the Soviet 
Union in search of the Brightest Future for All Mankind, but found a 
status of nye-vyuextJnoi (non-ex liable) for themselves, their children. 
and their children'!; children: they have lost the right to return lo 
whence they came, I hey saw the unreported side of Soviet life. 

Some were recent graduates of foreign language schools. Atten- 
dance had become possible under Krushchev, prior to whom the 
learning of a loreign language was considered the first step towards 
high treason. They make routine translations, into broken English, 
of the Central Committee members' speeches, articles in Pravda.and 
statements by cosmonauts and ballerinas. 

We return to the teleprinters, or rather to their plexiglass shield. 
and find a staircase to descend to the third floor. 

Let's tiptoe lo the highest office ol Novosti. past the reception area 
where a tigress of a secretary is purring something into a high fre- 
quency telephone, Boris Burkov. the director worked in an empo- 
rium of souvenirs from many countries, selected with all the taste of 
the jokes he made to visitors, which I was sometimes compelled to 
translate (Comrade Burkov blamed the translator if his guests did 
not laugh, so 1 had to compensate for the Jack of humor with devia- 
tions from the original.) Six southern and six eastern windows light- 
ed his menage, which included a meeting table, a small desk with 
numerous telephones, some matching chairs, further chairs around 
the wall and by the windows, and shelves for his unopened books. 
The telephones were ordinary, high frequency, and venushka, 
(scrambler) to conlacl the elite of nomenklatura and the Kremlin. A 
little door, as if to a closet, led in fact to another room with shower. 
bath and couch; here he would retire after an excess of toasts to 
international friendship and cooperation. Lunch, with vodka, would 
be brought to him here by a special waitress from the special Novosti 
kitchen in the basement. It was hard to respect Comrade Burkov, for 
he reminded me of Gorki's play "on the Bottom'*; it was as if he had 



ISS&KJSlEXil.-iL^ : \ ;.'..' :'::," r- :':'.'■ ■:':' : .i '- : . ■ ' ..:::'■"' ' : . ■ ■'.:.■■.■■.:. -■■■.■..■ ■.■.■■:■::■■■.>.•■■. .■,.■■.•■-■:-■. 



20 



!■ 




A delegation of "progressive" foreigners visiting Novosti, 
Under numbers: t. Comrade Zaichikov, 2.Vateri Pushkov, 
3.Tomas Schuman, 4.Comrade Yakunin (Central Committee of 
Communist Party, USSR) 

Congregation of "useful idiots" boozing with Novostl top 
brass. Sitting at head of the table: Boris Burkov, APIN 
Chairman, t am standing next to the Indian poet. 




21 

floated up to the surface, and there was something unclean about 
him. His gestures were artificially friendly, even when drunk- Com- 
rade Burkov loved to play democracy and egaiite. I didn't trust htm, 
but many foreign delegates did. I understand that he sank again 
several years ago. 

Comrade Zaichikov. the deputy director, was among my favorites 
in the Novosti brass. His room was right across from Burkov's. 1 
often visited him with crowds of foreign "progressive" scavengers, 
who would shamelessly ask Comrade Zaichikov for everything from 
an Acroflot ticket to Paris to treatment at the Kremlin clinic to cure 
their VI) and hernias acquired in the unequal struggle against 
Western imperialism. Comrade Zaichikov would patiently listen to 
them, and his face and hands would cover with perspiration. He 
would wipe them before shaking hands with the visitors, but the 
sound of a foreign language would make him sweat all the more 
profusely. Comrade Zaichikov was a shy person. Vodka was another 
cause of his condition. I suspected that Zaichikov had. somewhere 
inside him. some sort of conscience. You see, he was a war veteran, 
missing part of one leg. As the son of a professional soldier, I respect- 
ed those who had suffered in the war. I knew better than many that in 
rrality many Soviet military personnel are "doves. "The "hawks "are 
the fat apparatchiks, who hide in airconditioned bunkers and make 
long speeches at world peace conferences. Tall, skinny, and ascetic, 
ejtcepf for an incongruous pair o[ French eyeglasses. Comrade 
Zaichikov was. in my eyes, a dove attacked by swarms of the hawks. 
Sometimes I wished I had a shotgun. 

Along the corridor of the east side, glass walls reveal the offices of 
the Party, trade union, and young Communist bosses. In one 
frequently sat an Odessa Jew called Pishchik, a member of the direc- 
torial hoard who had found his way along the Party line of least 
resistance, whose black eyes radiated tiredness and a certainty that 
someday things will improve. I came to him fora signature whenever 
my bos« disappeared and I had something lo be transmitted abroad. 
He would ask me to tell him what is was about, and sign without 
reading, hardly noticing the absence of a censorship stamp. Then he 
would "retire back into the shadows, by an imported air conditioner, 
and continue his struggle to remain awake. 

Past a staircase {the same spooky one) is the karioieka. or Hie 
room. Around its walls are shelves of files; in the middle, twoTher- 
mofax machi nes {the Socialist Xerox) produce pink-brown copies of 
Novosti articles, to be registered with rubber stamp and code num- 
bers, indexed, summarized and entered in lar^e books by date, sub- 
ject and author, with further copies to be distributed to other propa- 
ganda organs, resum marked, recatalogued.and Tiled. The original is 
reprocessed for separate filing. Nothing is lost, nothing is findable. 
Of that two plump, slow girls lake care. 



"Recomend&tion letter" — a "must" in everyone's file with 
the Personnel Department* 

lipiittpicim 



rpyAomsnsuu ct]nairKw t ropwaw hjhhjkuc"* d I95 4 j j\*,;j 
10 npjiatiisy !jn BicUt easM o owrase opnrqaw k&h ju h -*«j _ 
■ dim B-.irpaxnoM rpaootou QA JUtou* Bjuiutwcun j«.i,ui; -■-*. 
h o<J;.i3GteOT;Lo:t wan fuowtfta* K 195/ rosy puttra * ■«.>* -• 
cwtwpe dspO B2WJ fliWTHTJia* & J35B-59 j^flOHW i^W v^. t >: 

HH I B milin itii yif iit ' i .h'i^ii (V'fo ""*^ r 

IMw WJf-AfUM X »:.**, ItaOilUll U JT3K* CnC.f.J.wii 



C8h?ettja SBW **■> (OP 6 * 




Novosti* Identify Card, proof of the 

absence of any Menihy - 1Mb if and 
honest) had been hnruM nvn In the 
special department* to exchange for 
this red-eovered curd which opens 
mure doors m the licaicr ihan the 
'American Kxprvrt' cTMlit card. 



'■ . 

■ 

■ 



f 



22 



•■ : •• 



23 

Several more editorial toon is grace the trjiiIi side uf ilie iliiiJ 
floor. I hese serve the Einglish speaking count lies, ihe United King- 
dom and Ireland, the United Suites and Canada, Australia and New 
Zealand. 

The west side lias doors which read "Outsiders Keep Out "" Behind 
these doors arc two departments, the "first department" and the 
"special. "They constitute the heart of every Soviet media agency, or. 
more precisely, the bladder. 

In the "first ."all messages between Novosti and the Central Com- 
mittee arc kept. A special courier win arrive at the main entrance ina 
black Volga car. He is generally a skinny and pimpled young man, 
with the rank ot junior lieutenant of the special CC Guards. The 
lieutenant will be chained to a briefcase. Me will not have the key. but 
lie will have a handgun to defend the secrecy of correspondence 
between the State and the "independent, public news agency. He 
will not say a word in the elevator. 

In the "special department", on the contrary, the secrecy or corres- 
pondence is violated, and by the same stale. I he correspondence, 
though, is that ol the Novosti stall. A nice lazy girl was working 
there, the last time I pecked through the door. Her job was to open 
the mail, whether personal or professional, and make copies of 
interesting letters. 

Next door, down the corridor, is the personnel department, 
guarded by a retired KGB. A fireproof safe section contains the per- 
sonnel files. In these the diplomas ot stall members are stored, toge- 
ther with every letter of recommendation, memorandum, reprimand 
or other clue to our professional existence. The prize document is a 
52-part questionnaire (the anketa), on which you have answered 
every conceivable question about yoursell. hven your instdes are 
known to the personnel department: your hie includes x-rays. But 
the most important document in each person's hie is bis object ivka, a 
two- or three-page compilation of the most subjective opinions — 
those of KGB informers, Every department will have at least one ol 
these creatures, 

A section of the personnel department is called vo)*enmstoil[ mili- 
tary desk) and guarded by a babushka, with military induction 
tickets for all members of the staff who are also reservists. I, for 
instance, was an officer of the reserve, and when I was assigned to 
India, babushka made a telephone call. I was told to report for 
retraining, to a camp near Moscow. It took me a week of negotia- 
tions and commuting between my Novosti boss, voenkomat and the 
babushka, to prevent my ^qualification." Even when I had a ticket 
to New Delhi, the omnipotent Defense Ministry, through its 
babushka, tried to send me to Ethiopia as a translator for the Soviet 
military ^advisors." What saved me from that w&s&spravka, certify- 



I 

::;:■■::■ I 



24 

ing that my t raining was in Indian languages, wh ich are not spoken in 
Ethiopia. Bui who cares . now? 

French. German and Scandinavian services are provided on the 
south side of the third floor. There is also a section of Communica- 
tions and a room for telephone operators, whose job it was to make 
high-frequency connections, sometimes abroad, usually to Party 
officials. If Novosti guides are showinga foreigner around the Soviet 

Union, the communications would be busy getting messages through 
to i he local Party offices, warning them to clean up in preparation lor 
ihe foreign delegation. There must be plenty of vodka, and good 
rood-, ihe roads must be swept and fences painted; drunkards 
removed from gutters; collective farms made to look efficienl. And 
put a grand piano in the park and someone to play it, preferably a 

worker. 

The s^nnd floor is not very interesting. I is north side ho uses tech- 
nical and administrative services. If one is taking a foreigner to lunch 
one comes here, to arrange coupons for taxis, credit in a good restau- 
rant, and a memn lor the accounting department, which will provide 
some cash to throw around. Tickets for planes and trains are also 
reserved here. 

Walking briskly down the east side's corridor we pass the photo- 
graphy depanmrni This is really another filing system, with an 
inexhaustible siork of pictures to illustrate the achievements of the 
Socialist Motherland- 

Countless photographs with negatives arc filed here, for every 
conceivable occasion, but essentially bearing the same message. 
Readers who have wondered how it is that . as socialism triumphs in a 
country, it* people be^in lo smile with an empty but eternal opti- 
mism/might address their inquiries 10 this section. Whether in 
Havana, Belgrade. Peking or Harare, one thing you can say for 
socialism, everybody loves it in the same way- This phenomenon 
should be a matter of research for psychologists. 

Countries already i-njnying socialism are served by ihe editorial 
departments of the south and west sides. The material produced here 
may not be as subtle as that produced for the third world, but there is 
nevertheless a sobering menage: you live beautifully and securely, 
and if you behave, we may noi have to "liberate" you again with our 

tanks. 

A descent 10 the ground flor>r will be accompanied by the smell of 
pirozhki and yesterday \ cabbage. soup, for a cafeteria and dining hall 
are on either side of the building^ lobby. Let's walk out, and see if we 
can get back in. 

Large glass; doors greet the visitor at the main entrance; except for 
two grey-uniformed sentries, looking quaintly like officers in Hitler's 
army, the building looks more approachable here than anywhere. 




25 

The sentries ask for your pass, they win send stall borne who are 
without one. A visitor must explain his business carefully, for the 
sentry will call the person he wishes to see, and only if the two stories 
agree will it be possible for the visitor to enter. The sentries are retired 
KGB. probably demoted Tor missing a quota — ol arrests, perhaps. 
On their faces is written a boring expression — "lifteen years ago J 
would have shot you." 

Novosti is by no means the most dillicult building in Moscow to 
sneak into; try visiting the Central Committee in Nogina Square. For 
intermediates 1 suggest the telegraph agency TASS. or the Moscow 
Radio building. I here the guards are internal police, and visitors 
check masil to loreign country. Your pass is your visa; half an hour 
or more can be spent (usually standing) waiting for the gentlemen 
behind a brick wall (with one brick missing) to process it, make out 
an extra slip of paper, and call your name. 

Back to Novosti. To either side of the lobby, the corridors display 
Soviet personalities and achievements. Smiling milkmaids, thought- 
ful nuclear physicists and dumb conceited Party officials share space 
on the walls with charts of the increase of something* probably the 
number of people who have been "agitated and provoked^by Novos- 
ti propaganda. 

Taking the left corridor, we come to the cafeteria, where, if we 
have some money left before the next poiuchkti, we may have 
some beer. Drinking to excess in the cafeteria is not advisable for 
Novosti staff: it gives the informers loo easy a job. On the other 
hand, drinking to excess is common in Novosti, out of bottles con- 
cealed in filing cabinets, pockets and bottom drawers. A foreign 
colleague of mine once remarked how much water seems to be 
drunk by Novosti staff in the mornings . . . 

Auntie Vera is not only the cafeteria's patron saint, but its 
manager. Her jovial, and substantial, presence accounts for no 
small part ol ihe morale in this tomb of journalism. It is often 
stiggested that she steals food; which is. in Russia, some sort of 
backhanded compliment, lor everyone who works in cafeterias 
steals food. Stealing is an essential part of a planned eco- 
nomy. 

Returning our empty bottles, and getting back for each the 12 
kopcek deposit, we may round ihe corridor to the west side of the 
ground floor and to the kassti cash-box. ft is from this tiny room, 
with a tinier reception area, that foreign "progressives*' are 
paid their thirty silver pieces for contributing to the destruction of 
their native "decadent capitalist' 1 motherlands, and for printing 
the truth about the Motherland of Socialism" — the Soviet 
Union. Most take it meekly; some have the nerve to complain 
that the number of pieces is unequal to their number of pages of 



27 



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; 



,... g . . 
'':'.;;.v;^: 



26 

truth A few take money on the promise to write in their native 
countries the glories, they have seen, and few of these fail to deli- 
ver But the really important contributors from abroad have 
their money taken 'to them, by persons of approximately equiva- 
lent rank. Future prime ministers and chiefs of civil serves dis- 
dain to be seen by lesser men qucwering outside of Novosti cash 

SUM 1 have seen distinguished persons here, for instance Ravi 
Shankar Raval, a painter from Indie: the poet Ah Sardar 
lain: another poet, and admirer of Lcnm, Surmtranandan 
Punt Biswas, editor of Ami if a Bazaar Pamca; A,S, Raman. 
editor of itamhav fllustratfrU, Narayanan, editor of the daily 
Patriot M\ colleagues from English-speaking countries told me 
that Mr. Mm Philby himself often sneaked here "incognito" to 
collect his lee I or consult! tig services rendered toNovoati through the 
Disinformation Department of KGB. Many unsuccessful jour- 
nalists and writers from the West and Ea«. North and South, 
end up in the queue, flattered, oi too cynical to care that their 
books art; printed in millions of copies in the USSR, where circu- 
lation is never an indicator of popularity. (It is established 
"from above" bv Agitprop. I The log buoka of this Uulo room could 
say a bi aboul a rather large number of otherwise resectable 

PL A dispatch ollice Tor truck and eai drivers is further along the 
west corridor, bv the arch which leads into the courtyard. Behind it 
there are several large rooms occupied by the printing facilities 
for Novosti dai)v bulletins, for both domestic and foreign con- 
sumption. The rest of the floor is too boi iug to investigate. So, ihece 
arc the four floors of the Novosti budding, hut that is not all. 
There is a rather interesting basement. Follow mc, please , . . 

If wo take an elevator, which is usually done only by "special- 
waitresses and some bosses, we can gel right into a "special, 
closed" restaurant provided for Novosti numvnkhxuici and deser- 
ving foreign guests (f hose who do not work - for APN. will not 
eat, - a socialist quotation from the Bible). 

The restaurant looks tike a replica uf a small decadent 
steak house somewhere in New York: high-back chairs and 
benches divide the tabic area into cozy booths soft lights, soft but 
progressive Socialist-realistic music emanates from concealed 
speakers: unobtrusive waitresses and Hi si class food from the 
Central Committee reserves. 

1 used to take quite a number of foreign guests here, to toast 
their truthiul stones about our classless society. Not » single lib 
leftist whore, while munching on the *'pcop1cV caviar. a»Ued the 
Novosti hosts afxnit the sharp discrepancy between food here 



■ i 




December 1 967. Picture by John Philby 



"■**£■ 




Cambridge, 1933: Maclean (see arrow) in the second rank of the Peace 



March 



28 



29 
and in the "peoples" restaurants {which any one of them could 
visit, if they wanted). Have the heroic Soviet people not deserved 
decent food after single-handedly defeating Nazis, conquering 
Space and liberating Africa? I never stopped pu/v.ling over the 
unique ability of my progressive observers not to observe things 
^untypical" for my wonderful motherland. 

h'rom the restaurant, located in the south wing of the buse- 
ment, we may turn to the west by a corridor und enter n roomy 
medical ivection. where employees of APN have their inaides rcgii-i- 
icrcd on x-rays and are treated for the traumas they acquire in 
their heavy struggle against the ideological diversions of the 

W<:.s! 

The western tunnel abruptly ends before huge airtight doors, 
leading, I was told, into a fallout shelter provided for, let's say, 
.some Soviet journalists in case of nuclear strike. At first the 
existence of these shelters seemed to 111c a -sign of paranoia in ous 
leaders, but I learned from a friend of mine, an employee of the 
Fuicigu Affam Minisliy, that il is muie of u calculated [Jitpa- 
raliuii fus wai. 

One day, while enLering a Moscow metro station, we saw a 
team of workers laboring over huge airtight gates, half a meter 
thick, made of steel and concrete, which in an activated, vertical 
position could completely cut off the metro station from the 
entrance tube. As I remember, it was just before the Cuban missile 
crisis. I expressed my suspicion to my friend that our democratic 
junta was probably providing us with shelters in case President 
Kennedy ordered a strike against Moscow in exchange for 
Miami. 

Not us, said the future diplomat, even the entire Moscow metro 
system cannot possibly shelter all eight million Moscovites. The 
gates are not to protect people from radiation, but to protect 
nomenklatura from a panic stricken Hood of people. 

Soviet media of that period was hysterical with laughter 
about stupid Americans paying hundreds of thousands of 
dollars to build their individual family bomb shelters. Some 
Soviet magazines, like the illustrated Ogonyok and Krokadil, 
printed photographs of the shelters with sarcastic captions. 
explaining that some Americans stock these shelters with canned 
loods, electric batteries and loaded idles — ■ to protect themselves 
not Irom the enemy, but from their neighbors, less lorlunate prole- 
tarians, lelt shelterless above. My Inend explained to me that tn 
every Soviet soiicinyi office, in one of its endless departments, there 
sits a modest bureaucrat, pushing insignificant but already 
secret papers. His real function is that of an "early warning 
radar system." In case of a nuclear war, he (or she) will receive 



,- :.: 

■ : : : 



i: v 



■■■:■■■■: 

.■ . . 

■..■■' 

;, 

■;■: :■■;■§ 
:: : r 



JO 

an innocent telephone call, and someone will mention a code- 
word phrase, maybe something like "the swallows are coming 
hack 10 Yalta" or "Auntie Shoora sends her best regards to 
Petya." That will trigger the evacuation operation. The clerk 
will" open his fate, produce a sealed envelope, tear it open, and 
call everyone who is listed, on his switchboard. The selected few will 
walk into an elevator, as if Ihey had been called to another 
.wveshfhaniye. and peacefully go down to the shelter, leaving the 
n^t ni the office blissfully unaware of the approaching missile, to 
roust in the nuclear lire. Everything would be orderly and purely 
scientific. No lasi-mirtute class struggle at the airtight doors, no 
need lor Uwirled rifles and canned foods . . - 

This much for the building. Let's get the hell out of the gloomy 
basement and walk into the sunlit prison-yard of Novosti. In 
dimmer time the yard is used by auntie Vera for her buffet. Under 
the round colorful nmhTcllas there are neat plastic tables and 
chairv Nmosti folk flush sandwiches down with Zhiguli bctr. 
;\a -tforovic' 




Another boozing session with 'progressive" guests uf Novosti 



31 



NOVOSTI "KITCHEN", OR SHOULD WE SAY 
"OUTHOUSE"? 

Victorious Socialism, as claimed by the Soviet textbooks of "Poli- 
tical-economy", had awakened tremendous, unprecedented produc- 
tive forces in the society, and during a historically-short period of 
time had demonstrated (to members of the Politbureau) the obvious 
advantages of the centralized planned economy over the so-called 
"free market", plagued with inflation, stagnation, oppression, 
exploitation, and general overall crisis. It was explained to me in 
childhood, that in the West the capitalists a re so badly organised and 
so greedy, that they prefer to burn wheat and pour milk into rivers* 
rather than give it to the poor masses. U is called "overproduction". 
At this point 1 was expected to feel class hatred; "Bloody bourgeois 
scum! Milk into river! Why not bring some to Mytishchi?" 

In my Motherland there is no danger of overproduction, that I can 
witness after 30 years of socialist life. Shortages, but only as tempo- 
rary complications of rapid socialist growth. We may sometimes be 
short of potatoes, bread, matches, shoelaces, shoes, coaL kerosene, 
sheet iron, soap, strawberry jam, ballpens, living space, corn, wheat, 
meat of the first category, meat of the second, simple meat, eggs, 
warm underwear Dntzhba (made in People's China), winter coats 
made in C?echoslovakia. dry fish from anywhere — 'secondary* 
untypical products, without which our nation has survived and even 
made glorious achievements in space and Africa. 

But not for a single second in the history of socialism have we been 
short of propaganda. This semi-fluid we produce in abundance for 
ourselves and for our foreign brothers. 

The biggest overproduction ofpropagandacanbe observed within 
NovostL Where does it come from? How does it collect in the sewers, 
travel along, ferment, and what kind of fertiliser does it make? What 
sort of fruit grows on fields, sprinkled by our manure? Let us follow 
rhe flow of it from the very source. 

Roughly speaking, there are three main sources of propaganda 
collected in Novosti: I) 'Mlpper" — ■• from Agitprop of the Party's 
central committee. ?)"Fxlernar — from theSoviet ma.s.s-media out- 
side APIM, and from foreign media, hoih progressive and reactiona- 
ry, 3) "Internal" — whatever we excrete ourselves. 

Agitprap develops long-term and fortnightly propaganda plans 
for the Sovjei and foreign media, as well as key-points nf Marxist- 
Leninist Dogma, as interpreted by the present ideological elite This 
is for APN, our "general line" Fven rhe most "independent" and 
mature propaganda makers must digest Agitprop's formulirovki 
before giving forth 



.;.■ 



■■-■ ■ 












.!■::: if v, 



32 

Agitprop's plans are briefed to the chief editors of Novosii during 
regular meetings at the central committee. Enlightened, the chiefs 
come to Novosii and brief the senior staff — department editors, etc. 
These consequently, elaborate the plans in accordance with current 
events in their respective geographical areas, to match the "needs" of 
specific nations. In cases when current events stubbornly happen in 
contradiction to the directives of the Kremlin, the departments chief 
erfiror coordinates the How and consistency ol propaganda with the 
Central Committee by phone. 

"Ejdtjnar sources can be subdivided into "domestic" "progres- 
sive luicigrr and ^reactionary foreign". Every year, day and minute, 
the mouMious Soviet mass media monopoly floods our country and 
our neighbour with oceans of stinking semi-fluid. The average 
homo soviet ico is used to the stench, and after three-quarters of a 
century simply passes it through his system as nor* digestible, Novos- 
ii men are quite another matter. We distinguish smells, colours con- 
sistencies and blends, selecting the choicicst pieces, chew them 
lovingly, and excrete new combinations and shapes. 

My duty, for example, was to digest a pile of Soviet newspapers 
and periodicals daily in search of three or four bits still edible, with 
proper seasoning, for out developing brothers in the "Third World 1 ', 
particularly those on the Indian subcontinent. This type of job can be 
trusted only to a comrade who has spent some time in I ndia, is farm 
liar with the languages and media of the country and who knows the 
tastes and mores of the population. Thus, for example, while picking 
through a rhapsodic piece from Soviet magazine Ogonyok, 1 omit 
references to hard labouring Soviet women (on railway and con- 
struclion projects, etc.), SO not to scare out uncmancipalcd Islamic 
sisters in Lucknow. 

Another "domestic" source of raw propaganda is authors, out- 
sidres, freelancers, professionals, bureaucrats or "intelligentsia" — 

obruzovamchina. 

Each AfN editor is expected to have a circle of these experts in 

various lields. 

Let us take, lor example, a typical ease, when the Central Commit- 
tee have decided to mark t he glorious anniversary of Soviet Puwei in 
a Soviet Asian republic. Let us imagine also, that by coincidence one 
of the largest newspapers in India (say. The Statesman) has 
expressed a desire to get from Novosti something about farming in 
Uzbekistan. That olten happens: to "balance" the flow of informa- 
tion from the West, editors of Indian papers will pick up a Soviet 
story, straight irorn the horse, as it were. Upon getting sober, our 
man in Delhi will rm mediately send to Novosti Headquarters in 
Moscow a telex, zayavka- request. Suppose, the piece of paper falls 
on my desk with comrade Mafchotins red pencil mark: 'please, satis- 



33 

ly*. My first act would be to call the Representation of Uzbek SSR at 
the Council oJ Ministers of the USSR, and request the minister in 
charge, comrade, say, Gasanbeckov, to write for Novosti something 
about the glorious achievements of Uzbek people under the guidance 
of the Leninist Central Committee, 

Comrade Gasanbeckov allows himself* to be talked into .such an 
important venture after half an hour on the telephone. He passes the 
buck to his aide, who spends another two hours on the phone, taking 
my dictation on the "main points". In two or three weeks the article is 
put on comrade Gasanbeckos desk. Comrade Gasanbeekov may 
even read some oT it, before signing, and dropping in the a ouT*tray. 
The article travels with a special ministerial dispatch to Novosti. 
sometimes in a black Chaika limousine. It becomes obvious that the 
whole piece is illiterate, too long, and on a different subject: methods 
of cotton cross-breading. But Novosti's accounts department readily 
issues a modest honorarium — about four hundred rubles — to 
comrade Gasanbeekov, It is a trifle for a minister, but it pleasantly 
tickles his author's ego and further strengthens brotherly ties 
between U/.bek and Russian bureaucracies. 

Sometimes, though, such an article is still born, either the minister 
is "out for the meeting at QC\ or has a hangover, or his aide mispla- 
ces the note with "main points" and is too shy to call me again. In 
other words, the opus docs not appear, and I notice steel in my boss's 
glances in the mornings. In this case I rewrite from a Tashkent local 
newspaper Kommtinisi (Jibekisronv, add some details from the 
Kazakhstan paper Lenin Zholw salt and spices, mention Indira 
GhandhTs visit to Tbilisi and comrade Gasanbeekov 'strip to Punjab 
last year, retype in three copies, and send to the Representation of 
Uzbek SSR. The article comes back with the precious doodle of 
comrade Gasanbeekov and the rest goes as above, including the 
"modest" honorarium. 

The opus must, of course, pass through censor, be coordinated 
with Agitprops recent propaganda plan, etc. By the end of the fourth 
month it lands on the desk of the Statesman's editor in New Delhi 
with a rubber stamp: "Exclusive from Novosii". By that time, suffer- 
ing through the monsoon season, the editor is unable to remember 
why he ordered it. 

Here, to refresh his memory, comes the Novosti man in Delhi with 
a bottle (or a case, depending on the importance of the trtpir) of 
whisky. The stuff is printed with photos of smiling Uzbek farmpix, 
proving the unmistakble advantages of Soviet socialist agriculture in 
formerly backward Asian regions. 



"^fif" — 



35 






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Vicious Circle Of He: a reprint of Novoi*i fabrication plan- 
ted in a Canadian Communist tabloid — in Soviet Travda". 



ONE DAY IN THfc LIIKfc UK A JNOVOSTI 
EMPLOYEE 

7:0fla_m. 

Heroically overcoming the headache — the result ol yesterday s 
socializing with Novosti colleagues and our foreign "little brothers" 
— • 1 wakf> up in my nlosi^i of n room in the communal apartment we 
share with another family, thai of a worker who rmikes parts for 
spumit'** m a Miper<;eemt factory in the neighboring township of 
Podlipki. Trying not to disturb the proletariat, or ro awaken my 
parents ("Where were you so late yesterday? Is it really necessary to 
spend THAT mueh time with your colleagues?"), I tiptoe to our 
communal bathroom. My parents sleep across; the corridor. Once in 
the bathroom my concern is not to fart (oo loud, forourapartment is 
far from soud proof. 

After scanning through a Pravda editorial, 1 crumple the front 
p;igc of the most trulhjul newspaper in the world. Having tried to 
avoid imprinting myself with the large portrait of comrade Brezhnev, 
delivering another historical speech, I make sure it is discretely 
flushed down, 
7:20 

In ourcommunul kitchen I put the kettle on the snove to boil water 
for tea, Meanwhile I tiptoe to our communal bathroom and spend 
some time in front of our communal mirror, puzzled by the sight of 
my own face and the obvious fact of my existence. Shaving with a 
Soviet-made Kharkov razor proves the fact even further. I go 
through my morning fitness exercises, careful not to disturb our 
neighbor's laundry, drying on a clothes line hanging across the bath- 
room and beyond. A cold shower makes an awful lot of noise. 
7:30 

I finish yesterday's bomhelx in the kitchen, wash it down with hot 
tea, and ballet back to my room. Dressing to the radio news f learn a 
lot about the achievements oi Soviet industry and stagnation of the 
Western one After the news I listen to invigorating sounds ol 
liu dash kin's 5th Symphony for balalaika and orchestra, dedicated to 
the XXI I Party Conference. 
7:35 

I fish out a miki of vodka from behind a row of neat imitation 
leallna -bound volumes ol the complete collections of works by V.I 
Lenin on my father's shelf. (My father subscribed to the works when 
he was a young student of Frunze Military Academy — hcjusthadto 
— and ever since the precious volumes have rested in peace and 
honour.) I have a gurgle with the vodka, return the miki to Lenin, 
and decisively exit from the apartment, ignoring grumbles emana 
ting from my mother. 



34 



■■: 

■s" 



:: • 






.. . 









36 



7:45 

I briskly walk towards Mytishchi railway station, a half milt walk 
from our "military township,*" Woycnka, the residential area for the 
.staff of the Military Communications Research Institute, where my 
father worked prior to his promotion to the General Staff and later 
retirement from the service. 

7:52 

I've made it. 1 run through the automatic doors of the suburban 
ffecirUfika train "Zagorsk-Mo.seow," pressing myself into the mass 
of wa rtti passenger* overcrowding the carriage. The pneumatic doors 
shut behind inc. pulling the tails of my jacket. 1 try to take a deep 
breath, and an unwelcoming comrade, into whose bosom I am 
pressed, exhales gailic, sardines in tomato sauce and rye bread. I 
catch sight of the pole tender profile of another victim of the morning 
rush houi, She baicly exists, squashed between myself and some- 
one's leather-coated back, 1 smile and make some room for her. She 
smiles back, coming to life acid inhaling stuffy air. Her shoulders feci 
SOfl, and 1 almost touch her hah with my check. The train stops at 
iMSinka station, and (he pressuie pei square inch upon our bodies 
doubles with a new bunch of smelly passengers. Now we arc literally 
'"flesh of one flesh." 

8:15 

Moscow terminal. We fall out the duo is of the train, compressed 
into a single mass still, like half-alive Jewsdeliveted by cattle-car to 
the gas ovens Of Treblinka, In the morning light I ci ideally obsci vc 
my fellow traveller and discover that her legs are bowed, and that lier 
Czechoslovakia coat is crumpled, hanging on her fragile figure like 
an empty potato bag. i smile farewell. She is swallowed by a whit pool 
of a crowd casting SOS glances, drawn by another stream towaids 
Komsomolskaya metro station, 
8:17 

Going down the escalator, I notice a shapely figure eiad in an 
imported Bolonia raincoat, her sporty legs sunburnt. 1 elbow my way 
through the crowd, trying to see her face, I make sure to squeeze into 
the same subway car with the "Botoma." Pressed together, we study 
each other's anatomy through a quarter inch of clothing. At Mrov- 
skaya station 1 venture into a conversation. By Dzerdzhimkaya 1 
manage to get to the point of asking her for a telephone number. She 
says she does not have any. She lies, l give her mine, and exit at Pros- 
pect Marksa with a Gagarin smile. The train carries "Bolonia" to 
Bihlioteka Lenma. 

I emerge at Pushkin street, meditating upon "Bolonia," hoping she 
phones. The weather is good, so I walk. Two blocks south of Pushkin 



37 

square 1 drop into the "Tiixists Cafeteria" and have a quickie. A 
standard breakfast otsoshki with sauerkraut (the Russian hot dog), 
an apple, and a cup o\' tea. The price of the breakfast is one- 
hundredth of my monthly pay; I ruble 50 kopeccks. Thanks and 
glory to the Party's Leninist Centra! Committee. 
8:53 

I arrive by the guarded glass doors of Novosti, keeping rny ID card 
ready in hand, with a feeling that almost half of my duly to the 
Motherland has already been completed. 
9:05 

At my desk, meditating and (secretly) picking my nose, I 
triumphantly observe others getting in late and, depending upon 
their position, that they arc nervous or casual about it. 
9rl5 

The progressive struggle foi possession of the TASS reports pile 
starts immediately it an ives in our office from dispatch. The pile is 
promptly divided into the "open" TASS — the reports about 
achievements of oui own and brotherly socialist countries, in which 
nobody is interested, and "DS"' — Dopolniiefnyie Soobshcfl&nia — 
these letters are stamped in the upper right corner of each page Here 
we can read about happenings in the decadent capitalist countries 
and the People's China. These pages we read more attentively, but 
quickly, to be able to get to the most desirable part of the pile: the 
pages with a single red tetter A in the upper right corner. This is what 
they call "white TASS" — the most "secret" information: transla- 
tions ofai tides and comments of the Western papers about us, about 
trials uf Soviet dissidents, strikes in places like Novocherkassk or 
Minsk, gossip from the Kremlin, as perceived and interpreted by 
"■icliable sources close to the Central Committee" by sensationalist 
Western reporters. Over these pages we fuss the most, trying to 
snatch them from each other and reading sometimes over someone's 
shoulder, impatiently and eagerly. Sometimes the 1 ASS pile by- 
passes our room and goes directly to comrade Pushkov s oil ice. That 
happens when our glorious and peace-loving armed forces liberate 
someone from imperialist aggressors. 
9:40 

Soviet newspapers arrive. Unwillingly tearing ourselves from the 
"sensationalist fabrications" of Western media, we begin to scan the 
"most truthful." Not for information, ot course, but in search of 
materials appropriate for external use. That could be an article, the 
topic of which corresponds to the list of ^orders" from a foreign 
branch of Novosti. or sim ply a less dogmatic piece of propaganda, fit 
for consumption in a not- too-progressive brotherly country. 

Each of us checks our desk to see if there is any zayavka — a 
request for such an article, red pencil marked by our boss. If there is 



' .:" 



. 









•■:'; 



■;■ 



:\ 



!•■=■ 



i ■ 
•1 






33 

none, wc took through the Soviet mukulatura (waste paper) rather 
casually. On my desk, most of the time, I find some note from my 
boss comrade Makhotin, to find a suitable piece on growing cotton 
in Uzbekistan and an interview with a Soviet indologist. Often there 
is also a hint where to look lor it; in today's papers, in [bckartoteku, 
the daily APN bulletin, or solicit such from an outside author In 
extremis — to concoct it myself. 

For each 1 am supplied with an ample stock of little mketas, the 
size of an index card, with red-lettered words printed across: "origin- 
al/' "copy" or "culling." The last is for pieces I clip from the morning 
papers. Ankeia also demands from me the name of the author, editor 
{mc), to which country or geographical area the piece is to be ad- 
dressed, into which languages to be translated and how to be deliv- 
ered (by foreign branch of Novosii, by telex, by diplomatic bag. by 
ordinary mail or through a foreign correspondent in Moscow). 

An average piece of propaganda does not take much time to 
process. ! cut It from the newspaper page, paste it on a blank sheet ol 
white paper, change the title from "The Glorious Achievements of 
Kazakhstan's Desert Captains" to a modest "Kazakhstan: The 
Insert Yields Cotton Fields." I replace two or three paragraphs and 
citi mil one-third of the text, and finally sign the copy at the bottom, 
putting the code letters of our department (GRSAZ — Glavnava 
Re/tnkmia Stran Asii). and lay the masterpiece on comrade Makho- 
t in's rlesk. 

to-nn 

Comrade Makhotin arrives, as usual, in an impeccable gray suit 
and white shirt, smelling of expensive shaving lotions of decadent 
bourgeois origins. He personifies efficiency and good manners* a 
replica of ihe successful businessman in the decadent bourgeois 
West He briefly leafs through the garbage piled by us on his desk, 
barely concealing his contempt. The "cuttings'* and Novosii bulle- 
tins' "copies" be signs almost without a glance, and with two fingers 
easts them inrn the ^nnf 1 * Iray. 'as if handling a dead mousi* 

Materials solicited by A f*N\ foreign bureaus or even by individual 
foreign newspapers are treated with more respect: they must be sale- 
able. An "order" — wyavka from New Delhi looks like a telegram. 
and it is up to comrade Makhotin to decide who of the staff should be 
entrusted with it. After a moment of meditation, Makhotin drops it 
on .someone's desk . Today ii land 4 on mint*, so I must devise a way to 
provide the material, find make suggest inn to the boss. The ways may 
be several: to search for material on the topic in our kermieka. to 
order it from a Novosii author in any cither department, or finally, to 
write it myself The latter is a privilege., for I am paid a modest royalty 
from our department's honorarium fund, always overspent. Makho- 
tin is in a good mood, and 1 get his royal approval I start concocting 
thr; article 



39 

When the opus i.s ready and typed. 1 attach an ankeia to it, and put 
it on Makhotin's desk. That's when the cycle of propaganda diges- 
tion <or indigestion) begins. 
M:<)0 

I am lucky. The boss signs my opus, briefly scanning through it, 
and not passing it to another junior editor to groom. I pick it up. and 
start my trip through Novosii s intestines, as we say in Russian, "like 
a fool running with a bagful of shit." 

My first stop isai the "registration" room, a part oflhckdrtoteka, 
described in an earlier chapter. Here I wake up a plump girl, day- 
dreaming, and, using my charm, hypnosis, humor, and physical 
force, make her open a huge log book and enter the number of my 
article on the appropriate page, and print with a rubber stamp the 
same number on my ankera. Having completed this gigantic fit of 
labor, the girl drifts back into her daydream. 
11:10 

Leaving her, I fly to the censor's room f do not remember a single 
ease when one of the three censors passed my material on the spot, 
even if it was totally innocent and did not contain any state secrets. 
The censor mumbles, "Put it there, come back in a minute . . ."and 
absent-mindedly states into another article, straining his brains to 
find secret information the decadent enemy in the West could turn 
against us. 

"In a minute," my article is still there. It would be still there in an 
hour, three hours, a day, a week, etc., so I take it into my strong 
young Communist hands and bring it to the censors very purple 
nose, while making vague gestures and whispering something like. 
"Ivan Peirovich wanted this urgently for the telex dispatch at 6:25." 
There is no Ivan Petrovich and there may not be any telex connection 
with Delhi at 6:25. but that is immaterial, 1 even suspect thai the 
censor knows I am bluffing. But my bluff works because 1 know the 
magic power which Russian patronimics, whispered respectfully 
wnh mysterious numbers, and words like "urgent'" and "classified." 
accompanied by vague finger gestures towards the ceiling .has on the 
simple tired souks of Soviet bureaucrats. 

The censor pretends to find some small error in my article, inquires 
about the meaning of several figures borrowed from the official sta- 
tistical yearbooks, looking nevertheless suspicious, and hesitantly 
puis his rubber stamp on the upper right corner of each page of my 
article 
11:25 

Snatching my work from the censor, I run back to the daydream- 
ing girt: my material is "original/' and the topic could be of use to 
some other department. A copy must be deposited in t he kartoieka. 
This lime the girl must enter every detail of the ankeia. perfectly 





dearly, just inca.se. 



41 



Comrade Md.huiln In one of hfe best mood, (and toxida«) 



.-.••:.•■ 




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"^^s * ~ d « « «« ng 
pi.o,ocnp y , tlg APN c, 11P ;, ' x h ;"::'r " s,orchouses ** 

deeply as Kn.iinlcniion.ir v y glance at, he iT"^ Wh ° Wu «"» 
machine give, bi,, h , a pinkM, 1,11 ?"■ J" her blouse ' The 

P"g» agams, a bright feh, P ° PV - ^'^ ir * ou "old the 

11:40 s 

•-Wa„o„ -•P.nai^^rh.^^t^? ^^ " "* 
girls, snuggling through a nil? »f^ • ' ° r,he ov «-ripe 

'»'" borin, E „g|i 5l , .I ^;*N. ,o be turned 

*> mtoute*. bat with rav cnr~2nZ {"* "** ,hem abo <« 
only 20 There is no, muc h niMV , £"£ "* P '" g " "*» take 
»«<* «f u slightly varied comb^^o " h^^ir'f r' icl "on- 
unchanged since ||f * Petroin h" n °' d C " Ches - alm °« 

"""'vcrsalkitforncwsnar^ w, '' lP BCnder " >vei "^ hi S 

■*<*"« idea, that b^U^r^ n ^°!' l ' tb0 i kd0 *' to ' 
world, everyone should l,s,e„ and ^ "' '" dn ° !l,erwlse deaden, 

mmd. Thegirlp a(roni ^ n e ,„d 1, ? '"" my ^ b <" *>»* 

'ootinga, mea saG1Iw t 1 ZVro ka « C ^" t ' CCrmV "' fo1 m >"^. 
<■» copy. To typists W,0<,Utas ™ llb ^-Bm!fl yawaywith 

12:15 

*'«h her to a Beno'ka foreion 1, t0 i 11 ^ 1 ' a not her t, ip 

-to. my piece ™™*Z^^$%£r- ^ , «ripj' 
"l « despatched to India. „ eouU^.,1 « ^ m " r " Before 
Makliotinand Pushkov. ifi, nr Z* n "7»T?? e ? Ua ™ from 
m.8hi relax - Tamara wou.dXC o h ^""^"il. 
urgenfand meam to be trans X e d 'v ? , ,"* mak ' rial « 

round of troubles. I hav, ,„„,, ^ » ? ' $ ° ' haw an0 "'" 

«V«*. He is absent, so t JtoZ^^T't "' Pashkov 
members of the directorial b« 1r d * "* n T r ™ d * mb "* °r* ohhe 
get his signature in a "^ t^ ■ ^^ ' T ,U, * V: ' 
content of myopusfPishehitnevX^stoT,,^' 18 him on ,he 
ts done, not so much for sadis,"™,™^ M thC '""^ Al > lhis 

•«- text getting on the inte™ 7 a Td Pre ™ tan y ""™ant- 

of the KGB. '^t'onal rad lu waves, suit out of control 

12:30 

lrUnbaCk ' 0!hCr °- hn — ^cthethtnginroth,^.^ 



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dow in i he huge plastic wall ol the teletype hall. "I he dezhurnara girl 
operator scrutinizes the text, lest there should be anything but sub- 
versive propaganda. She passes it to one ol the key-punch typists, 
and I finally lose control over my creation. It is on its way to India to 
do its job of screwing up Indian minds. 

1:00 p.m. 

Trying to catch my breath. I run into a colleague, equally sweaty 
and wild-eyed. We start negotiating the lunch break. One dot's not 
simply "have lunch" in Novosti. unless, of course, he is a newcomer 
or a hopeless misfit. Anyone with prestige and position belongs to 
one's own "lunch group." And, depending on the amount of cash (the 
closer to pavdav potuchka, the less), the group either Rocks to the 
Novosti cafeteria, or files out through the glass doors into Moscow's 

streets 

The purpose of the lunch group is very important: it indicates who 
are your friends, and what is your worth. Some "privileged" groups 
heart towards Moscow's high-class restaurants* such as the Aragvi, 
Uzbekistan, or Baku. Our Asian department sponsors the Pi'km 
restaurant in Mayakovski Square. 

Only with one's lunch group can a Novosti man be safe tocritici/e 
his bosses and express political views. To be admitted to a group, one 
musi prove his discretion, sense of humor, cameraderic and ability 
lo pay hack borrowed money. My group consists of Karen Gcvork- 
yiw. admirer of Caucasian and Oriental foods. Vadim Smirnov, my 
schoolmate later co-opted to the CC. Today we include some: out- 
siders' Dima from TASS. VikLor from external al'Jairs (both 
ArabkK), and another Viktor, from the KGB, Our loyalty has been 
tested hy years of friendship. None of us, we want to be sure, is able to 
report on another. 

We would never allow an unfit member into our group, such as 
Ben 7mnvy*»v. a shifty little bastard, who runs with his boss's. Sasha 
Gornov's, car keys ahead of his boss to warm up the motor ol his 
export-brand Volga station wagon. Disgusting. We would not 
bother, on the other hand, to infiltrate a group of such lunchers as 
Gromyko\ son. or Rrc/hncv s daughter, or Krushchevs son-in-law. 
all of them belonging to Novosti s elite. We would not feel comforta- 
bly in their prcr- nrr even it they would not mind playing at "demo- 
cracy" and having some of us in their company, for entertain mem, if 
nothing eke. 
1:15 

The weather permits, so we walk to our meeting place. The way to 
Uzbekistan is loveliest of all — along the boulevard, watching pretty 
yirls sitting on park benches. 



43 

3:00 

When all topics and political jokes and gossip are exhausted, we 
head hack to the office in a peaceful and la/y mood. The rest of the 
working day could vary from continued flying around to sitting at 
one's desk, pretending to be busy. Some ambitious comrades spend 
the rest of the day composing their own materials or doing the 
research for them. 

Reading Soviet newspapers gives me masochistic pleasure: it 
makes me deeper and harder in my hatred of the system and it cures 
any illusion ihiit the -system can ever have "a human face." 
■■UK) 

We have our "coordinating meeting" or [troizvoti.'itvenimye 
sovexhi-hanixe — a boring and unproductive exchange of opinions 
on each other's work, mainly with The only ultimate purpose in mind 
. to kill any creative and individualistic effort in its earliest embryo- 
nic stage. Figalitariankm in mediocrity knur guiding rule. We receive 
a short briefing on the latest lists of topics and viewpoints suggested 
to Novosti by our immediate master. Agitprop In these hriefings 
(h>itK'hka}w<s< us journalists and member* of the Party. elahnrafcon 
the ways to put the stupid and totally illogical usianavkirf Agitrop 
into passable, or even entertaining verbal form, so thai they may 
have u chance to be picked up And reprinted in the foreign media 
S.00 

The exodus starts. Bosses disappear first. The masses sometimes 
stay behind Jock the doors and have a little celebration, in which case 
a junior will be sent to the Gastronom across Pushkin square for a 
bottle (or two), 
6; 00 

On the way home, in the electric train, 1 observe the proletariat and 
kolkhoztuks, crowding and sweating, carrying with them large net- 
bags, uvo.ska* tightly stuffed with bread, macaroni, cheap kolbasa or 
sarcfeiki, trying to *'erase the difference between the city and village" 
by buying foodstuff:; in Moscow and carrying them home. I listen to 
their life stories and anecdotes and their complaints about the hard 
life. I sympathize but at the same time feel happy I am not one of 
thciru 1 am of the privileged clays 1 do not have to carry food home 
from Moscow to Mytishchi; I do not have to stand in long lines, for I 
have access to special shops for those a little bit more equal than 
others in the land of equality and abundance. 

On the other hnnd, the proletarians have something I lack 
freedom to curse our leaders and our system aloud. They have 
"nothing to lose but their chains."! have a lot to loose, if I loosen my 
tongue. So, pretending to be half asleep, I listen to the wisdom of the 
poor — political jokes, same of which 1 will "sell" to my Novosti 
colleagues tomorrow at lunch. 



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44 

7 00 

J seldom watch TV. While at home, my favorite medium is a short- 
wave radio set, imported by my father from liberated East Germany. 
I spend hours by the set. tuning to the Voice of America, BBC and 
Deutsche Welle for news from abroad: Radio Luxemburg and Radio 
Teheran, for music: All India Radio, for nostalgia. But the most exci- 
ting for me is Radio Svoboda (or Radio Free Europe), the station 
that informs me about happenings in my own country It is an irony: 

I work for a news agency. 

At the supper table I quarrel with my parents and tell them 1 am 
not going to be thankful to them for a li happy childhood" in the sys- 
tem they have built for me. My father, an old Bolshevik, calls me 
names, but my mother, daughter of an affluent Ukrainian farmer, 
tells me with a sigh that with my attitude, Pd be unhappy under any 
system. 
9:00 

I retire to my room with a paperback American novel, borrowed 
from a No-vosli friend just returned from abroad, or with a copy of a 
Samizdat, entrusted to me only for the night. I know 1 will never be 
able to write and self-publish anything like this. I have sold my soul 
to the system. 




'La dolce vita" of the Novosti elite. 



m 



45 



WHAT ARE FOREIGNERS? 

"Big deal!" some of my countrymen may say. "foreigners are 
people who live in foreign countries, encircling the Soviet Union." 

"What else?" 

"Well . . . foreigners are free to come to us. but we cannot go to 
them." 

"Very narrow definition, comrade! Shame on you! You should 
read more newspapers! 

"Oh. , . i . . . of. will you!" 

"No, first* let me teU you what foreigners are. Correct mc, if 1 am 
wrong. 11 

Foreigners arc, for us. divine creatures, dangerous and hated, 
['hey are people from a different planet, every molecule of their 
bodies being made from a different set of elements. We treat them 
with respect and fear, tryi ng to please by showing our best and newest 
communal barracks and whichever crop has survived in the collec- 
tive fields, But at the same time we have to be extremely vigilant with 
them, for any one of them maybe an enemy, a spy, a subverter, a 
saboteur. Foreigners are of different kinds: proletarian and bour- 
geois, but it is safer to suspect them all. 

Foreigners wear unavailable things: stretch socks, nylon shirts, 
Italian rain coals, high boots 'Via- Russc v made in Japan, fur coats 
made ol Siberian fox and sables, Dacron suits, woolen sweaters, etc. 
Foreigners' pockets contain desirable things such as ball-point pens 
and chewing gum. There are numerous cameras around their necks, 
and most of them work, Foreigners drive shiny foreign cars, and 
when they park on our streets we gather around their cars, touching 
the chrome, but utterly indifferent to this gimmick of capitalism. 
Some people say that foreigners give us credits in their foreign cur- 
rency. And we love their currency, irrespective of age. Party status or 
position. Most of us love it plaionically, just being happy to learn 
that our mighty State has received a few billion decadent unworthy 
American dollars from whatever deal. The biggest lovers of foreign 
currency are our biggest people, our leaders, "servants of the people."" 
For example, the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the 
USSR is so crazy about the foreign credits thai he readily gives away 
anything we have: timber, gas, oil, caviar, vodka, Jews, matreshka 
dolls, gold, masterpieces of art from the Hermitage, icons; if there 
were wheat, he would give them that, but it docs not grow well in our 
country due to "unfavourable climatic conditions." The ordinary 
people, for selling their personal effects to foreigners in exchange for 
the currency which the state loves, may be executed, as ^economical 
enemies of the State." 






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46 

This is another reason foreigner arc so much hated by us. The 
my in reason, though. Is that our land is encircled by imperialists, who 
constantly plot to eliminate ourglorious State, This is why every t rut 
putriol and internationalist has unanimously supported the efforts of 
our armed lorccs to protect our encircled Motherland, by fighting 
against Western imperiiilism in Afghanistan, Vietnam, South Korea, 
h'inltind, Norway, Portugal, Africa, India. Cuba, Angola, Ethiopia. 
Nicaragua, 1:1 Salvador, Chile. Canada and Antarctica. That is why 
every Soviet patriot imiM develop in himself a pure class hatred to 
every io reign imperialist, and constantly reveal alt foicigucis as 
agents of foreign imperialism. \s that clear so far? 

"Clear that you talk too much. What is your name, cot made'.' May 
[ sec you i documents?" 

{You see. tie thinks 1 ttiii a luietguei!) 

****** 

Until 1957 1 do not remember seeing any foreigners a I all. therefore 
I had only warm feelings lor them, intuitively understanding that 
whatever bad is said about foreigners by our propaganda is untrue, I 
envied foreigners because they lived in foreign countries. I longed to 
meet the foreigners, but they were too far away. Somewhere there 
were brave French stevedores who refused to load tanks for Vietnam, 
there were oppressed and deprived American Blacks, and exploited 
American workers; there were hungry farmers in Canada — but I 
had never seen them. Most probably, the imperialist circles did not lei 
these good foreigners leave iheir countries and come to our land for 
fear that they would see how lucky we were with Socialism, oral least 
that was the explanation in the newspapers, 

At a certain age I wanted to be a foreigner, feeling myself a bit of a 
misfit. Imagine a ten-year-old boy listening on the radioabout bread 
growers oi Stavropolye overfulfilling the plan of wheat harvesting 
for the State, or seeing the movie "Cossacks or Kuban" where the 
collective farmers' tables were loaded with food and wine, and at the 
same time in Kiev my mother would wake me up at 6 a, m, to take my 
place in the bread line You would feel like a foreigner; especially if 
you were born into a Soviet army officer's family and still remem- 
bered although vaguely, such things as Spam, powdered eggs, 
condensed milk, supplies to us by fendiease from the U.S. 

When I became a high school student, I remember being a success- 
ful impersonator of foreign accents in school amateur shows. 

In 1957. forthe.sat^e of "'strengthening peaceandfriendsriiparnong 
the nations of the world." Ntkita Sergcevitch Krushchev allowed the 
first ever "International Youth Festival" in Moscow. We saw as 
many foreigners as we wanted. They were walking in Red Square! 



47 

Alive! Unprotected ! One could (carefully) approach them, touch 
them, say something like, "Mir, druzhba!" (peace, friendship). 
Exchange badges! Addresses! We could really strengthen friendship, 
for about two weeks! 

"Moskva— Kaluga— Las Angeles 
United gladly into one kolkhoz!" 

When the young foreigners finally left Moscow and went to their 
respective foreign countries to continue the work of Communist 
propaganda, by telling fables about Soviet achievements, after 
Moscow was cleaned and swept of foreign cigarette butts and 
chewing gum wrappers, out VD clinics became crowded with young 
people who took "strengthening of peace and friendship" too literal- 
ly. Many of them lost some part of their admiration for things 
foreign. 

As to me, I managed to preserve my faithfulness to the Motherland 
and did not catch VD. So I was still fond of foreigners. Moreover, 
from admiration of well-tailored clothes and elegant cars I made a 
further step to the realization that the foreigners were superior to us 
in a way: they were natural, they were not afraid to socialize, they 
were free to criticize their governments and countries. Slowly the 
idea jyew in my mind: I understood that democracy is not whatexists 
in the USSR, it is what foreigners have in their countries. And I had 
faith in democracy. At that time I could not know that many of my 
countrymen also had faith in Western democracy, and that this faith 
had cost hundreds of thousands of litem their lives. Only many years 
iater did I learn what Western democracies did to prisoners of war 
who rebelled against the Soviet fascism during World War II and 
joined Germans in the vain hope of crushing Stalin's tyranny. They 
had no other choice: the West was not going to help my nation to 
overthrow the gentlemen in the Kremlin: on the contrary, they were 
"allies" with Stalin. Unarmed, unprotected, naively trusting the 
"common sense" of Westcncrs, thousands of men, women and 
children then gave themselves up to the British and Americans, who 
lurried them over to Stalin, and collective graves. Thus the West 
betrayed its only friends in Soviet Russia, leaving enemies alive and 
well paid. 

But back in 1957 I did not know that. The facts about the shameful 
Yalta deal and 'keelhaul' betrayal were concealed both by Soviet 
propaganda and by the Western media. At that time my attitude to 
foreigners could best be defined by the words' admiration, hope and 
envy." In the early 1 960s thai attitude slowly changed to "puzzlement 
and confusion " 

After my first several contacts with foreigners during my universi- 
ty yea is, my attitude di^rus^ed furihci towards "pily arid disillusion- 



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American singer Paul Robeson doing his propaganda slant. 



4a 

ment," and after gradual ion from the Oriental Studies Institute and 
several years of Novosti work with foreigners, both in the USSR and 
abroad, the barometer drifted further down. 

1 he process ol losing faith in the foreigners started ever so slowly. 
Try to imagine post-war Moscow, hardships. Cold Wiir paranoia, 
new waves of political arrests, disintegration of whatever freedom 
our people had won from Stalin a*a reward for winning the war. Old 
people trembled every night expect ing the KG I) to knock at thedooi. 
Young people were hypnotised by the cynicism of government tenor 
a rid propaganda. Imagine now, that horn the stronghold of Western 
licedom s the United States* to which Soviet citizens seeielly prayed 
for salvation and hope* there comes a "civil lights fighter. 1 ' world- 
famous singer Paul Robeson. He sings to us, the while slaves of 
Stalin, about the black slaves of Uncle Sam. Thai we can understand* 
But when that "bird with black eggs" sings lo us; 

"1 dv not know any otha lountry.bta the USSR 
Where man ctm brtruffte .wfieety"? 

When I had become a member oTthe Young Pioneer Organisation 
(the Soviet equivalent of Hitler's Jugend), I remember being told to 
draw the "peace dove"" of f'ablu Picasso, This was the lime of the 
notorious "Stockholm Peace Appeal" - another propaganda trick 
for the naive Western world. Everybody was collecting signatures 
under the Stockholm appeal to ban nuclear armament, and most 
Soviets undeistood that it was a fake. Even as a teenager 1 could see 
thiough the whole thing and started actively hating not only "peace 
and doves," but anything painted by Pablo Picasso, good or bad. 
Many yeai> later I can explain my aversion to the great painter in 
logical terms, an honest anist must not allow a communist- fascist 
regime to use his work for propaganda. 

Imagine Moscow r in I960, a hungry year of disastrous crop failure. 
Despite the declarations of Krushchev about the USSR '"overtaking 
the USA" in all kinds of production, including milk and meat, the 
situation even in Moscow foodsiores was tragic. In the students' 
canteen or Moscow State University there was no more free bread on 
the tables, one of their previous liber lies. A mam moth "World Peace 
Congress" was summoned to Moscow. Paid by the Kremlin, 
thousands of our foreign friends had come to Moscow to talk about 
the necessity of disarming the West. "Humanists'' - ■ writers, priests, 
scientists, lawyers, political and public figures, irrespective of race, 
color or creed, arrived in the USSR with one thing in common: a 
selective blindness to the negative side of Soviet life. 

Imagine the abundance of the Kremlin palace, where all these 
"peaceniks" stuffed themselves with selected foods, while ordinary 
people continued to queue for the humblest necessities. 



50 

imagine ihe group of well-tiouiislicd Western delegates, stuffing 
Itomselves with caviar and siuigeon in the Kremlin, telling mc, their 
interpreter, how bad life is in America, how banks force them to buy 
more and more goods on credit, and huw Americana are in so much 
debt that they do not belong 10 themselves, but to the banks. 

1 could not respond properly, nvi spit in their fat feces, for fear of 
KGB agents sneaking all over the Kremlin, oven hearing the *frcc 
exchange of ideas." 

I%2. Baku, the capital city of a colony of Moscow, named 
Azerbaijan. I am in a black Cfiaika limousine (a bad Soviet replica of 
the Cadillac). 1 am accompanying a distinguished guest from India, a 
wnlcr. politician, humanist, friend of the Soviet people. I take him 
lor a irip to the sea oil exploration of the Caspian "Oil stones," Our 
limousine stop* at a red light, and in the bright early morntngsun my 
Indian guest sees a colorful and long queue of people, standing by the 
bread store "Bittochnaya. " 

"What are these people doing?" asks the writer, politician and 
humanist. 

"Waiting lor the morning newspaper pravda," I answer without 
hesitation, knowing that our driver, a KGB man, overhears every 
word, 

"Truly, Til tell you, the Soviet system of total literacy docs 
wonders!" says the guest, rolling down his window to better observe 
the highly-educated Soviet masses. A! this very moment a tiny 
wicket -window of the store opens and the first loaf of bread emerges, 
eagerly caught by the lirst man in the line. At the head of the line 
so me disturbance occurs: two mustached Azerbaijani men drag away 
a screaming Russian babushka, and I overhear the words. "Go to 
Moscow, and eat your f. . . ing Russian bread, not our Aserbaijani 
one! 1 * The old woman, crying, got to the end ol the line, 

Ihe traffic light changes to green, and our black limousine speeds 
away from the "newspaper kiosk." On the docks ot the sea oilexplo- 
ration platform we are met by Party and administration bosses, 
Before the inspection, we are invited "lor a snack," which happens to 
be a luxurious feast with lots of booze and caviar. 

"To peace and friendship among the peoples! "says the Party boss, 
raising his glass ol vodka. 

"To India's socialistic path, following the great example of the 
USSR!" answers the Indian guest. 

What an honest person should have done, would be to stand up 
and tell the Party boss that he refuses to eat .drink, or for that matter 
inspect the "glorious achievements," in a symbolic protest of solidari- 
ty with the hungry people. Nothing unusual. The politicians and 
humanists do it back home in India to show solidarity a gainst the big 
capitalists. Why are they so shy in the USSR? 



51 

And the last episode. A well-known poet of India, translated in the 
US and Great Britain, comes to the USSR for a vacation paid for by 
the Soviet government, as a reward for his "revolutionary" activities 
in the past, In the early twenties, he had helped to undermine law. 
order and social institutions in the former British colony; not by 
writing poems, of course: they came later, when the young revolu- 
tionary poet became the old revolutionary poet, glorifying his own 
deerh. What were the deeds? Smuggling firearms, ammunition. 
mine*;, explosives and ideological propaganda into India via Kabul 
from a spy and sa hot age training centre in Tashkent, 

As we If now now, independence came in a different way. thanks to 
responsible national leaders, not using explosives and ammunition 
smuggled from Soviet Russia As for the revolution, it did not. work 
quite the way he wanted. Bui the Soviet junta did nnf give up its 
efforts to turn the former British rotnny into a present Soviet one* 
Only now, after Stalin's death, the met hodsw r e re changed. It was the 
time of "peace and friendship and co-existence and cooperation." 
meaning subversion, and the revolutionary poetry was needed to 
marry the struggle of Nehru and Gandhi with the great ideas of 
Marx, Engels. Lenin and Krushchev. 

More than forty years were sacrificed by the Indian revolutionary 
poet for the cause of freedom, equality and progress, to own the right 
to see the country of freedom, equality and progress. A dehydrated, 
wrinkled and shaky seventy -year-old revolutionary was delivered, 
under my gu idance as an APN t ranslator, to the "special" clinic of the 
Kremlin, open to Party leaders but closed to the masses, 

A rosy, plump Russian lady doctor, specially selected to treat the 
elite, attentively listened through a stethoscope to the tired heart of 
the revolutionary. I dutifully translated her commands to breathe 
and not to breathe into Urdu: and his incoherent senile boasting into 
Russian. 

"Why hove you neglected your health so much'?" asked the Russian 
doctor, polpiting his chicken like chest, 

lt Oh> there was no time for hygiene and health care,"" said the poet 
proudly, "we were too busy, blowing up police stations, shooting the 
British officers from behind the corners, robbing the banks, inciting 
mutinies, agitation, getting jail terms . . . you know, revolutionary 
struggle is not a joke ..." 

"Oy-oy. "sighed the compassionate lady." what a heroic man \ You 
have probably seen Lenin?" 

"Yes, 1 have met Lenin," answered the chicken-revolutionary 
modestly. 

"Da!" said the Kremlin doctor decisively, "well give you first class 
treatment. People like you should be taken care of." 

I easily imagined a different situation. What if the son of this good- 



■ 



'- 



'; ■ 






.: 








U.S. defense commitment to Western Europe 
come* under attack by vocal minority; pressure 
also builds inside U.S. 



"Foreigners" — and the rnd result of anti- Americanism: 
scum burning us flag "for peace". Why not Soviet nag? 



53 

hearted Russian lady doctor, an officer of the Soviet colonial Army 
in Hungary, had been shot from behind a corner by a Hungarian 
revolutionary poet 9 Would she sigh about that Hungarian's neglec- 
ted health? Or would she rather approve what was done by her son to 
the hundreds of Hungarian revolutionary poets, cornered in bullet- 
ridden city buildings, surrounded with Russian tanks and blasted at, 
point blank, mixing bricks'dust, water pipes, window glass and book 
shreds with Hungarian blood into one porridge? 

Many years later, when I had already defected to the West, 1 read 
the book "The Russians" by Leonid Viadimirov. He wrote thai, 
"among the Soviet intelligentsia there was no hatred towards 
foreign liberals, leftists and other misguided people, who allowed 
Soviet propaganda to take advantage of them; if anything they felt 
condescending compassion,* 1 writes Viadimirov. "because many 
Soviet intellectuals understand that most of the 'fellow-travellers'are 
*honest. humane, only naive* people." 

If this is true, then the gallery of the naive and misled is larger than 
the Hermitage. From presidents and prime ministers, giving half of 
Europe over to slavery by a scribble of their pen, to entertainers and 
artists glorifying that slavery for a handsome payment from Novosti; 
from great humanists to great bandits — all sorts, all colors, all 
creeds, 

I am not an "intellectual," and unlike my countryman Viadimirov. 
who was editor of a scientific magazine, I socialized with foreign 
guests more actively, as a Novosti "guide." Yes, there was a period in 
my life when I tended to forgive the foreigners for their criminal 
naivete. Moreover. I imagined at a certain time in my career that 
those zmranmy (derogatory to rhyme with inosirantxi-iovcigncrs) I 
had to accompany in the USSR were exceptions, that the rest of the 
liberals and leftists abroad deserved respect. But after years with 
Novosti, arid hundreds of encounters with those foreigners. 1 
changed my attitude to contempt and disgust. 

Both the KGB and Agitprop know perfectly well about thissort of 
xenophobia among the NovosiPs staffers dealing with foreigners. 
and Til bet they share our feelings and encourage them for a purpose: 
it is easier to manipulate the foreigners with the help of foreigner- 
hating Novosti men. It isalsosafcr Feelings of contempt anrldkgnsi 
prevent Novosti staffers from being "contaminated" by the Western 
idcoloey (if such exists). Thus, xenophobia is a vital and ineviiahli* 
element of IDEOLOGIC Al SUBVERSION. 



:. 



:;:;.■ 



: : ; '':. . 



9 ~- 



54 



A LOYAL AND DEDICATED STEPSON 

l 'The USSR grants the right of asylum to foreigners per- 
secuted for defending the interests of the working people 
and the cause ol peace* or For the participation in the 

revolutionary and national liberation movement," 

(Soviet Constitution, Article J8) 

In early 1968, the Central Committee of the Communist Party of 
West Bengal elected Bishnu Mukcrjce to be a resident at the High 
Party School of Ideology in Moscow. It was an honor and reward for 
its 57-year-old faithful son: it was the type of school at which the likes 
of Patrice Lumumba and Walter Ulrbicht had learned the principles 
of ideological subversion. Angola's Augustino Ncto went there, as 
did Afghanistan's Taraki, Zimbabwe's Nkomo. etc.. etc. 

To Bishnu Mukerjee, who began life in an East Bengali village. 
Moscow was splendid. The hospitality of his Soviet comrades, the 
touching care of the Soviets towards their younger generation 
("children are our future, the most privileged class in our classless 
society"), the world's best subway system (with its murals and 
monuments and slogans; a gallery, church and wax museum of 
Communism). A one-room apartment was thoughtfully provided hy 
the Soviet Central Committee, in a prefabricated block close tn the 
Exhibition oT Achievements of the People's Economy — a huge. 
open-air display of certain industrial and agricultural machinery 
built by victorious Soviet socialism within 50 years. Comrade 
Mukerjee confessed to his Soviet translators that It hrought him tears 
of delight, to think that it had all been done for the people. 

Bishnu Mukerjee was not a snob. Although he understood the 
historical importance of his personality, (a secrei to the necessary 
conspiratorial regulations of the party), he was content that his 
ascetic life would lead to the just and progressive society that he and 
the masses would enjoy in his homelanrt after the revolution. 
Although he missed the spicy ecstasy of Bengali food, he ate his 
Soviet canned sardines in tomato sauce and eggplant "caviar" with 
staunch revolutionary fervor, sometimes washed down by a good 
glass of vodka. In the evenings, after classes, he had the pleasure of a 
television set. donated by the Trade Union Committee of Progress 
Publishing House There he worked occasionally in his cover job, as 
a translator of propaganda booklet* from Russian to Bengali, oral 
least pidgin English to Bengali, for his intensive Russian course had 
not had too much effect and a little help was always in order. 

Bishnu Mukerjee had joined the party long ago. probably during 
the war, when British India and Soviet Russia were nominal allies. 
With partition. India was more sympathetic to Communists than 



56 
was Pakistan, and Mukcrjce drifted from Dacca to Calcutta. 
Belonging to the cause had helped him to overcome a personal disas- 
ter; his broken engagement with a girl from a wealthy Calcutta fami- 
ly. He had been uutuuky wiLh women all his lift, but his efforts on 
behalf of the party took most of his time and energy. At first he was a 
courier, taking the iusliuclions of the party committee, not to be 
trusted to the mails; then an agitatoi among students, paid by a leftist 
newspaper for which he did the odd spot of proofreading; finally a 
party administrator. There was maetically no time for marriage. 

A rare moment of confusion had impinged upon his consciousness 
during a recent visit to a "closed "party shop in Red Squat e, light in 
front of Lenin's tomb. In a small hall, windows tightly cuitaincd, 
comrade Mukerjee was offered a modest choice of clothing from 
some crowded shelves, li was unlike a shop in Calcutta's Cliowiing- 
hee Road, where the assortment might have been a bit biuadei, 
certainly better displayed. Shy of trying things on, he selected a 
winter coat from East Germany, a pair of fur-lined rubber shoes from 
Poland, a conservatively tailored Finnish suit, and a fur hat, made in 
the USSR at a factory named alter Rosa Luxembourg. A sentry 
stood by the door, which was locked behind him. 

In a couple of months, overwhelmed with gratitude for his Soviet 
hosts, comrade Mukerjee expressed his desire to celebrate the 
achievements of the country in articles for Soviet and foreign news- 
papers. A contact in the Central Committee's Department of South 
East Asia listened attentively and suggested that the appropriate 
place ior so noble an enterprise would be the Novosii Press Agency 
— it takes care to disseminate trie most truthful information about 
the USSR all around the world, and what is more, pays 10 to 15 
rubles per page lor material of this sort by any author. 

One may only speculate whether comrade Mukerjee entertained 
himself, en route to the Novosti office, with translations of Russian 
rubles into Indian rupees; and if he did. with what rate ol exchange. 
Notwithstanding, upon his arrival he became my problem. 1 was a 
junior editor with Novosti s South East Asia Department. 

U was one ol those days in out monstrous propaganda cartel when 
all its little wheels and cogs tor some mysterious reason were running 
with the utmost friction and noise. It was a day when most of the 
senior bosses were "out tor a meeting," the traffic of propaganda 
stopping, for want Ot signatures. It was a day when a secretary, a 
charming girl, with Brezhnev's jy. or lower, was busy shopping for 
her expected illegitimate baby, causing ou rtrade union leader to pass 
a hat, to collect donations tor the future Soviet Citizen. It was a day 
when, having seen me every morning for five years, the sentry sent me 
home for my press card. It was probably one of those days when 
several influential Western newspapers approached our agency for 



56 



. -. : . 

:•.;•■■ 






I, . 



an "opinion poll" on how the Soviet people reacted to the latest 
statement of President Nixon. 

1 was summoned to the office of the South East Asia boss and told 
to meet Mukerjee downstairs: "Don't bring that black ass here/* 

The "black ass" was a small thin man with a pleasant open face. 
horn-framed spectacles, and a modest blue "Mao" jacket, buttoned 
to the throat. He held a rolled bundle of typewritten pages in one 
delicate dark hand, an optimistic smile (like that of an angel who has 
taken the wrong elevator), and with hts. other hand he held mine until 
every purpose of his visit had been explained. I knew that holding 
hands was common in India, and so did not withdraw as my col- 
leagues would have done. I expected the worst, hut whai I read sur- 
prised nie f 

All over the world the eyes of all oppressed people turn- 
ing today in Mnwnw Red Rtar*: of Kremlin with hope 
and expectation knowing that the long night of slavery, 
imperialism, colonialist oppression and racism will soon 
bf over The new era has already started — here in the 
Motherland ot Socialism, where all the dreams of man- 
kind are fulfilled. Now, that I have the honour to witness 
the happiness of this courageous nation, now only do 1 
understand how vile and inhuman are the reactionary 
circles, in their futile efforts to distort the truth about the 
Soviet Union . . . 
A list of truths followed. 

"Not bad. not bad at alL" J said to comrade Mukerjec, explaining 
that I do not make decisions to accept material, but that J would take 
it to the chief editor. Comrade Mukerjee would not let me go> 
inquiring about payment*; and copyrights. If the Mew York Time. 1 ! 
reprinted the article, would he be paid by Novosti. or should he 
charge: the Times directly? Half an hour was required to get rid of 
him. 

Upstairs in my boss's office, I received instructions to throw the 
article in the waste basket. With respect for the revolutionary past of 
comrade Mukerjee, my boss signed a slip of pa per for the accounting 
office, worth twenty rubles. 

This did not discourage Mukerjee, In a week he returned with two 
more works of similar merit, bitterly complaining that he had been 
underpaid for his first and demanding cop iet of those foreign news- 
papers which had reprinted it. I took him to my boss's off ice, expect- 
ing never to see him again; but to my most acute surprise he returned 
beaming smiles, heartily shook my hand and thanked me for promo- 
ting his writings. A minute later my boss came with Mukerjee s pile, 
and, avoiding my eyes, told me ro "groom it up here and there." 
M ukerlee got 250 rubles, and I . who ultimately wrote his works, not a 




Dedicated "stepsons" of Communism visiting Kremlin with 
the author. 




57 



■:•.;::'.:•.:,■ 



r.- 

'X.-. 



■■■•■ 



■ 



58 
kopeck. He proved a prolificand persistent writer, though not exces- 
sively particular. He would describe the functions of a factory union 
without ever having visited one, supplying statistics from memory 
and imagination. leaving no references. It was my job to reconcile his 
facts and figure."; with those already officially published. 

As the youngest editor and the only "active" orient ologist my fate 
was sealed Within two months I was losing weight, had become 
nervous, and contemplated sinister designs against comrade 
Mukerjee 

The opportunity to avenge myself came suddenly. Our department 
treated a large group of "progressive" writers and journalists from 
Asia, Africa and Latin America to a little reception. As is customary, 
the guests talked themselves out, in praise of the Soviet Communist 
Party. The director of Novosti, in reply, modestly admitted that, 
indeed, the Soviet Union was the greatest, wealthiest, jus test and 
freest of countries, and, as it was also the most peaceful, it was always 
willing to help a national liberation struggle wherever it might occur. 
The guests clapped, and some young girts presented them with Lenin 
badges. The party retired to the **closed" dining room, where gallons 
of vodka were pumped into them. I acted as an interpreter for some 
of the Novosti director's jokes, fearing for my job if they did not elicit 
laughter, When we were filing into the dining hall, I noticed the lone- 
ly figure of the Indian admirer of Soviet freedom. He was clutching a 
fresh bouquet of typewritten pages. A dark demonic evil possessed 

m:\ 

After official toast si he big bosses faded away, leaving the guest sin 
the capable hands of the junior staff. We knew our business perfectly 
well, and sang revolutionary songs, taught the words: 

Our country is vast and free, 

i don "/ know any other 

Where a man can breathe so free ... ct cetera 

J quietly assisted ii bottle of vodka in ii,s struggle for liberation, 
rinding some smoked salmon and a can of caviar for the other 
pocket, then hull' curried Mukerjee to the door. It would have been 
too cruel of me to leave him in the streets of Moscow in such a deca- 
dent state, so I drove him home, leaving father's license plates con- 
spicuously outside 

Comrade Mukerjee 's apartment was, although I ndiani/ed, typical 
of bachelor's apartments everywhere: the stench of unwashed 
clothes, mountain of unwashed dishes in the k lichen sink, books on 
the floor, a little crowd of empty bottles under the desk; then a few 
distinctive features: an unflushed toilet, portraits of Marx and 
Brezhnev, and a smalt oval silver framed photograph of an Indian 
girl with large, clever Bengali eyes. His daughter? 

t hesitaied briefly Wbr«e fault was it. after all, that comrade 
Mukerjee had turned into a parrot*' He mistook the pause for dis- 



59 

pleasure with the mess of his apartment, and smiled 

'This, as you may see, is a temporary dwelling. In a year or two 111 
be coming back to my homeland, a new and independent Bangla- 
desh!" 
"Yes," 1 said, to say something. 

"But you should not think that we do not appreciate your hospita- 
lity and brotherly assistance. We'll never forget this, even when we 
come to power and build a glorious society, like yours . . ." 

Mukerjee fell silent, and 1 worked over my plan Hi* apartment 
would be bugged, as were all apartments of comrade revolutionaries 
from foreign countries, but that did not mean anyone would be 
listening. To make sure that the conversation would be overheard, I 
reached for the telephone. The usual buz* started after a lag of only 
three seconds. To make sure I had someone's attention, I dialed my 
office number, and allowed five rings. The next stage was to deliver 
comrade Mukerjee into a state of inebriation still more advanced, 
and, from my cynical experience with "progressive** prostitutes, pro- 
voke him into anti-Soviet remarks, 

"The Indian delegates complained today," said K "that we Soviets 
are too friendly to Indira Gandhi's government, and not attentive 
enough to the needs of the Communist Party of India. 1 ' 

"Oh. that's an old song; the split of CP1 was the beginning . . , 
undermining the anti-imperialist Iront," 

I thought that comrade M ukerjee was not yet drunk enough to run 
out of cliches. If he did not run out of cliches, I would have no end of 
his articles. Embracing him, in a brotherly way. I poured two more 
glasses. Mukerjee drank, and, pleased by my attention. showered me 
with names, dates and events. 1 learned that there were several Com- 
munist parties in East Pakistan (loo many, 1 thought, for one 
developing country), that the real Communists were only those who 
follow professor Ahmed, as opposed to the followers of AHaudin and 
Biswas: und God help the followers; of Mu hammed Toha and Abdul 
Huq, (he Maoists! 

"We ore developing a strong pro -Moscow party, and we are able to 
establish ourselves as the strongest force in the universities. * 

Alas, the volume of vod ka in comrade Mukerjee was not in inverse 
proportion to the amount of his dedication. I fell upon another tac- 
tic. Was the Soviet rote in East Pakistan greater than comrade 
Mukerjee implied? And. could 1 get him to talk about a subject secret 
enough that his discussing it would bring him fatally bad marks in 
school"? 

"Okay, Bishnu," said I in my friendliest manner, "do you think 
that you East Pakistani Communists can bypass violence and terror 
on the road to independence and socialjustiee? Remember our histo- 
ry. For the purity of our Leninist norms we had to go through the 



:; . 



60 

purifying fire- of civil war and purges. You think the Bengali Com- 
munists cart avoid this?" 

"Avoid?" (and here he became dramatic). "Who says we need to 
avoid revolutionary terror? No, comrade, we must lead, control. 
channelize it! You cannot even imagine the ability of our proletariat 
and our revolutionaries to mobilize for a decisive armed struggle! 4 * 
(I could very well imagine that, somewhere in the villages and 
workers 1 townships, the agitators had the red paint waiting to put 
hammers and sickles on the walls, and many tons of booklets pro- 
pagating class struggle and revolutionary violence, printed in the 
USSR, flown daily to the subcontinent in the diplomatic cargo of 
Aeroflot; I could imagine picture boxes with ammunition and 
Kalashnikov machine-guns.) 

"Our propaganda cells operate in every university center/ 1 belaid, 
counting on his fingers "We have prepared and trained cad its of 
party administrators, we have military training for capable boys, we 
have prepared lists of all the opposition clement*. The brothci I v help 
of the Soviet Union and India will provide us with intci national 
recognition and ideological support, even at the United Nations." 
"And then everything will be tip-top?" 1 asked sarcastically, 
Mukerjee shook his long thin finger at me. 

"I know what you are thinking about. Mo, we arc not Lhai naive, 
We understand that political independence is only the fit si pan of the 
struggle. Resistance of subversive and imperialist elements is taken 
into consideration. Thanks to your people and your consultants we 
have a vast re education program r . , and a plan to get tid of the 
enemies ol the people." 

11 Re education programs, ch?" 
"Yes, comrade! Labor turned monkey into man." 
"Labor camps, then/* 

"Call it labor camps,*" Mukerjee said peacefully, 
"And what about the listed 'enemies'?" 

"Historically inevitable, ".sighed Mukerjee, and made an interna- 
tionally known gesture of a finger pulling a trigger of a machine-gun. 
"Well, "said I, "111 drink to that!" I filled the glasses to their brims, 
pushed one into my comrade's hand, and toasted a fiee and indepen- 
dent Bangladesh. 1 tossed vodka into myself, almost heating the hiss 
of the liquor on the red coals inside rac In a moment, the flame 
caught up, burning the remnants of my human corn passion. Another 
toast to the unity of progressive mankind, one tu fallen comrades. 
Until Mukerjee began to cry. lie held my hand, as if ready 10 
confess. In a mumble he related to mc that when he was a student he 
was rejected by that lovely girl, that one with the clevei eyes, His 
parents tried to arrange the marriage, but his caste was no match for 
hers. In revenge, he insisted that one of his comrades, a militant 



61 

terrorist, "take care" of the girl. She was found dead, and raped, in 
the dormitory. Comrade M ukerjee lost his potency from the shock: 
he had become a homosexual. 

I took his hand off my zipper, poured the rest of the vodka from 
the bottle directly into his throat, and left the liberator of Wen gal 
unconscious on the carpet. 

The next morning I felt as if I had spent the night in a garbage can. 
I stood under the shower much longer than usual, trying to wash 
away the memories, f did not know whether 1 should be pleased at 
letting Mukerjee say what he was not supposed to say, thus getting 
rid of him and his articles for good, or whether I should start to worry 
about myself, for the KCB might as easily get curious about my 
curiosity. To be sure. I called Vadim Smimov, my one and only 
contact within the "highest seat of power, "the Central Committee. 
We met during the lunch break in the garden in front of the CC buitd- 
ing in Nomina square. The day, by contrast to my mood, was sunny 
and warm. 

"Old man," said I, "your advise and maybe your help is needed. 
You know, perhaps, a Bengali Communist called Bishnu Mukerjee, a 
student at the High Party School." 

"SoT 

"1 have made htm drunk at a Novosti banquet, and then boozed 
with him till three in the morning at his apartment, discussing poli- 
tics." 

"Well," said the apparatchik, "let's hope the news does not reach 
Makhotin. You really should know better. And what do you warn 
from me?" 

"I am afraid 1 made Mukerjee talk too much, and supposing his 
apartment k bitted . - ." 

"Mot supposing, it is bugged. So, what did he say?" 

"Well, 1 guess you can verify what i say with the K<JB, but 1 can 
assure you, that without any provocation on my part , , ." 

"Of course," smirked Smimov. 

". . . Only journalistic curiosity. The damn Bengali told me that a 
socialist revolution is being brewed up in East Pakistan with our 
help.*' 

"So what?" 

"So thtn.' 1 And I told him ihe whole Ktory: East Pakistani radicals 
trained in K.GB schools, lists of "enemies of the people" to be execu- 
ted after a leftist coup, invasion of Indian armed forces with our 
encouragement, and ideological and political "protection" of the 
newly-born "People's Republic of Bangladesh" in the United 
Nations and through a world-wide propaganda campaign orchestra- 



62 

ted by Agitprop. I also mentioned the homosexuality of the old 
revolutionary. 

"Holy cow, "said the rcferenl-indologist, "this Mukerjee of yours . . 
sorry, of ours . . has a great imagination. How much you poured 
into him? 11 he asked indifferently, but I noticed a spark of interest in 
his eyes, 

"Oh, about 500 grams, not more," 

"Well, no wonder he had sick ideas. You Forget that Asians cannot 
hold liquor. . , Look, I suggest you forget the whole damn thing. Buy 
him a drink next time he comes to Novosti, make friends, but keep 
away from your amateur intelligence tricks and drunken politics; 
that is, if you want to keep your Novosti job." (He stressed ,s Novos- 
ti"). *'And don't think much about Mukerjec's sick fiction." 

"What if the KGB starts thinking about it? They must be working 
on the tapes by now." 

"So what? If they approach you, give them some psychological 
baloney, as you can do, Or simply tell them the truth. The rest is up to 
you . . . you know , , ," 
"Okay." 
"And call me if you get into a real mess." 

"Right-o/ 1 

****** 

Bishnu Mukcrjcc never came again to Novosti with his opuses. 
Instead one day a pleasant voice on the phone asked me to meet 
comrade Major Sidorov oi the KGB in room 935, hotel Moskva, for 
an informal talk. 



To (he commit tee of slate security of the Soviet of Ministers of the 
Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics from Citizen of the USSR 
Bezmenov, Yuri Alexandrovuh, horn 1939, member of CPSU, card 
number .... presently an editor of Novosti Press Agency, depart- 
ment . . . 

"Welt, you do not have to be that formal/' said Major Sidorov 
tenderly, looking over my shoulder at what 1 had written. Just use 
your own words. And the main point should be your own conscious 
decision to cooperate with the Committee Then, perhaps, a couple 
of technicalities . . ," 

Eduard Jvanovich Sidorov was very polite. Hegrceted me warmly, 
but without familiarity. Not a hint of blackmail, no mentioning of 
the Mukerjee affair, He said the Committee knows and values my 
experience in treating foreign guests of Novosti. Understanding, 
good hearted ness, humanism, respectability — those were the 
features Major Sidorov was trying to express on his rat-like face. One 
cannot, using all his imagination, associate this modest man with 



63 

some 00 odd millions of my countrymen (the entire populations of 
two European nations) shot, frozen, beaten, tortured to death by 
"the Committee." And while he was talking to me in a soft voice, 
somewhere beyond the windows of the luxury hotel Moskva, beyond 
the barbed wire borders of my Motherland, the colleagues of com 
rade Sidorov went on to shoot, poison, rape, subvert, sabotage, 
brainwash, blackmail, corrupt and do many other Impolite things in 
the name of the most just new society in the history of mankind, and 
to provide for the security of its leaders — n small group of aged men, 
fat and flabby from overeating and alcohol, often senile, but deter- 
mined and cruel, who parasite on my nation and call themselves M ser 
vauts of the people.* 1 Major Sidorov wanted me to sign a document, 
certifying myself as an accomplice. 

"AH light," i said agreeably, "I'll write it in my own words." And 
on a clean sheet of paper I wrotci 

f, Yuri AleMindrovkli Dezmenov. volunteer to help the KGB in 
surveillance of foreign visitors of A PN and foreign media representa- 
tives residing in my country . . , 

"Yes, this is belter, but still rather artificial. The words should 
corner fjoui your heart," said the Major, 

From my heart; 

/ nave un obligation (o report my observations on foreigners, sus- 
pected on un v uctions harmful to my country, personally to comrade 
Sidorov in regular »v tit ten reports. Signed . . . 

"Heic yuu should take an assumed name, to protect your privacy/' 
said Sidorov with an apologetic smile. 

"Oh, that's okay with me. HI take the name of 'Musafirov," 

"Sounds like a Tartar."* 

"Aiabic, Oh. by the way, what do I write about remuneration"?" 

"Eh, don"t write anything yet. But to be clear, the Committee will 
cover all your expenses while treating a foreigner, when you provide 
us with a dctaikd bill." 

"Oh, l sec," I said, showing mild disappointment, and signed the 

document: ^Musnfirov. " 

"1 wonder what does the name mean,'* said Sidorov, folding the 
paper and stuffing it into his pocket rather disrespectfully, 

"Musafir, 4 " I said, "means rider from "safar," 

I was now working part-time (or the KGB. I hoped I will be smart 
enough to take the KGB for a ride. 



..-.'..'. ■.. 



v >.v.-..:v,i.^J.v.:-;'.v;--v:-i :■.-,■/;..■;■•■>.: 











Tomas Schuman with a copy of 'Look** magazine he helped to produce 
as a Novosti manipulator. Below: Look* s idea of "Russian fashions 4 
inspired by Novosti manipulators. 'All is fine in Soviet Russia after 50 
years of Communism* ■■ chat was the message. 



,■ ■ • 




60 

A RIDE FOR LOOK MAGAZINE 

On June 2, 1967, I was summoned by the directorial board of 
Novosti, who entrusted me with * k a very responsible job ,% A large 
group of Look staff were in the country on a special mission, to pre- 
pare material for a special issue dedicated to the 50th anniversary of 
Soviet power. They were actually paying Novosti, according to 
contract, for the "services" we would provide. 

My immediate boss during the trip was appointed from the section 
for English-speaking countries. He was Valeri Neyev, a lail sleepy 
looking fellow of some forty years. He spoke tittle of anything, inclu- 
ding English, but had been quickly promoted because he was only 
working part-time; his other responsibility was to the KGB* I was to 
report all details to him, with a written report at the end of the trip, in 
triplicate. 

On the same day, 1 was introduced 10 a group of good-looking, 
extremely sociable Americans. They sat in the National restaurant, 
discussing their trip into the second hour of their wail for chicken-a- 
la-Kiev, I thought that ^normalization" had done wonders for their 
patience, 

My future observes was Philip Harrington, middle-aged, midd te- 
sted, and with a face that looked loo intelligent for a photographer, 
at least by Novosti standards. He proved to be, as well, very demand- 
ing, capricious nervous, unintuitive and unobservant. From the first 
day he asked too much of the Soviet bureaucracy, expecting service 
for money as if he were in Europe, or Asia, or Africa. He was as 
inconsistent as a teenage girl in love, presenting me with a list of 
places and persons to photograph that would take the KGB weeks to 
approve; the next day forgetting his list to insist upon spontaneity. I 
assumed that he had been told always to ask for more than you want, 
leaving a margin tor diplomatic retreat, This would be the wrong 
approach; in Soviet Russia you take what you can get. 

Near Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad), despite my poiite recom- 
mendation that he tarry lor a while, he insisted upon taking forbid- 
den panoramic pictures from the Mamayev Hill. How could I hint to 
him that a KGB shadow was approaching? 

Near the Volgogrand Refinery he insisted upon stopping the taxi 
to photograph a long and rusted barbed wire fence. Didn't he realize 
that our driver whs a KGB informer? 

In Simpheropol, lie very nearly revived the Cold War by photo- 
graphing some high transmission lines. He would not even wait for 
the driver to go for a pee, I he KGB would conclude that he was 
tracing the inland roads and utility lines to spy and subversion camps 
near Simpheropol, where international terrorists are trained. 

in Yalta, he photographed a highway clover-leaf and a bus station. 
Was he trying to pick out foreign faces that might be from the spy 



': 






66 



camps, on holiday in Yalta toscicw Russian giili (a standard reward 
for loyalty to Moscow)? Surely lie should know that the Third 
World's liberators are transported only at night. 

If Philip was wiih die CIA. they forgot to luiiu liiui. No mil tier 
How many clues I would offer, he failed to sec that I was a sympathi- 
zer, lie wasted his film, on colored stones, crabs under waici and 
children swimming, lie didn't even bother with the fuieigu-luoking 
man, past the barbed wire, further up the beach, and he was genuine- 
ly surprised when we were both told to go look foi ci a bs elsewhere, 

I wanted to avoid the "closed" places, but alio to avoid pictured of 
smiling milkmaids enjoying the happy Soviet life. Doing unimagina- 
ble dirty tricks, playing hide-and-seek with lucal Paity and KGB 
administrators, I managed to miss the "typical' 1 collective farms and 
wojKcis' houses, the "museums of the icvolution," all of them 
designed loi loicign tourists. Still, I icinembeied the instructions, 
went not too far from the official route, and foi my own protection 
made notes of all of Mr. Harrington's doubtful pictures. 

In Volgograd, lie wasted scveial ioIJs of film on the huge steel and 
concrete statue of the full-bosomed Muthci Russia, who stands as 
high as the Statue of Liberty, like a mud woman with uu overdose of 
hormones brandishing a sword for the Soviet fencing team. At the 
hydro station, a hundred pictures of a tujbiuc hall, ihiough the 
railings of an overhead bridge. In Zaporozhye, sparks flying fioui a 
smelter. And in the only advanced collective farm I failed to avoid, a 
smiling milkmaid. Comrade Brezhnev would shed his eyebrows if he 
were there to sec that she was milking the cow with her hands, some- 
thing they don't do in the World's Most Advanced Country. Fort ir- 
ately she kept her hands out of the frame. 

In Arteck we visited a "special" children's resort, where pink- 
cheecked pioneers had been especially selected to pose. We were in a 
""super modern" building: I failed to bring Mr, Harrington's atten- 
tion to deep cracks on the wall, an interesting detail as the building 
was on a steep grade of clay, overlooking the [Hack Sea, in an aica 
which experiences hca>y rains. 

Alt in all, Mr. Harrington did not correspond at alho the image of 
the "sinister imperialist stooge, sniffing at Soviet garbage cans for 
defamatory material about our glorious country," Neither the truth, 
nor the garbage, bothered his imagination. 

On the Black Sea, I pointed out an old man, in faded military 
trousers, a torn lee-shirt and a straw hat tilted back a -la-Krushchev; 
his crutches leaned against a cement urn, full of garbage: on his lap a 
newspaper with his meal: a sliced pickled cucumber, a piece of rye 
bread, and several slices of cheap bologna kielbasu. In his trouscr 
pocket I could we the empty end of a mickey of vodka. The newspa- 
per's pacifist headline was, "It should not ever be repeated in the 



67 




Propaganda monument in Volgograd (above) as presented by the *Look" 
magazine; Schuman (centre) with group of American guests, including 
Look's photographer Phillip Harrington, who took the pictures for 
the propaganda issue of Look magazine. 













' ■-'.■■^.■"'•■■'■X-.' : -/:- - -. : i' 



.. 

: 

. • 

1 



68 

world: Soviet veterans or war say." 

"Hurry up, I said carefully, take itl" Philip smiled, and clicked one 
of his cameras a couple of times. But before he had rewound his 
camera, the ugliest of Russia's subjects, in gray gaberdine and white 
shirt sleeves, sandals and socks full of sand, had crept up behind us, 
tapping me on the shoulder with a rolled newspaper, 

"Young man, yon are the translator with the foreigner? Are you 
not?" 

"I am," 

"Why then do you allow him to make fun and defameour people?"" 

"Citizent" said U sternly, "Citizen! You will not obstruct the work. 
You will address all your questions to my superior. Is that clear?" 

The informer was taken aback; he hissed, but did not press any 
further. He escorted us to our hotel, twenty feet to the side, disap- 
pearing into its side entrance with the air of a busvand decisive man. 

After lunch, Philip went to his room to change film and take a 
shower. 1 was approached by a babushka -dezhurnaya (old lady sen- 
try), the key lady of the floor. Pursing her lips sadly, babushka told 
me please to drop into roam number 20, and talk to comrade. Com- 
rade turned out to be an operatlvny rabotnik. a KGB supervisor of 
the local Intourist branch, tall, ugly and too young to look fearsome: 
he was trying to play a bit part in a Soviet spy movie. After half an 
hour of pregnant pauses, he asked, 

"Why is the American so interested in untypical elements of Soviet 
life? Why doesn't he take the photographs advised by Intourist?" 

I tried to be very polite to this young protector of my nation's 
oppressors. 

"Being a Novosti editor. 1 am well aware what is good and what is 
Dad for Soviet propaganda. Moreover, so do my superiors, who are 
being instructed by the Central Committee's Department of Agita- 
lion and Propaganda. All the film will be "edited "by our people, and 
all the untypical pictures will he replaced by typical ones. For doubt- 
ful cases. I keep a record of every single shot.** 

1 showed him my notebook to prove my point, but that was a 
mistake, as it was in a code of my own devising He demanded an 
immediate transcription. 

"Sorry," I said, with utmost compassion, "that I cannot do. I am 
subordinated directly and only to my KGB contact. Major Neyev* 
and I submit my reports directly and only rn him/" 

We parted open enemies. He promised to report me jo Moscow, 
recommending that [ never be permitted to work with foreigners 
again. I promised to tell Moscow about the ob.strucfionof the Yalta 
KGB. I know not whether he ever made good on his threat, but I 
know that I did on mine: five pages in three copies the moment I 
returned to Moscow. 




69 

In the mood that I was left with, 1 spoiled my relationship with Mr. 
Harrington. This was done over dinner. He had noticed my encoun- 
ter with a stranger that morning. He did not want any trouble with 
the KGB, and said that I should know better what nor to do. I should 
concentrate my efforts on arranging "interest ing visi island "interest- 
ing objects" for photography. 

"We have rather different ideas about what is interesting." I said, 

"1 mean interesting from the point of view of American readers 
and the editors of Look magazine." 

"It is difficult for me to see what this might he,' 1 1 continued. "I sel- 
dom get a chance to know either." 

"You see. 1 ' Mr. Harrington said in an irritated lone, "the manage- 
ment of Look magazine is .spend ing a fortune for this trip, including 
the expense of an interpreter, whether we nceri one or not . . ." 

"So what?" 

"So, Intourist and Novosti charge us for certain services, which we 
agree to pay for. they agree to render, nnd we seldom see ..." 

"Oh, is that so?" 

"Yes. And what makes me mad is, that we a re doing the job. paying 
our money, basically in the interests of your country, to show' the 
achievements Of the Inst fifty yrars. in a truthful way." 

"Mr. Harrington. 14 1 tried to he calm w 't is not I who establish the 
rate of charges for Intourist or Novosti or decide what volume of 
services is to be rendered." 

"Maybe, but is you who arranges boring visits to kindergartens 
and museums. How many museums and kindergartens can one 
photograph?" 

"Aeain you are wrong. Mr Harrington. The programs and routes 
are established at a higher level. I only show you around. If you do 
not want boring visits to museums, you, or your management, 
should bargain with my bosses before you pay money. You Amer- 
icans are supposed to be good bargainers. Don't blame me for the 
spinelessness of your bosses. My duty \k to implement on the local 
level whal you have decided with my bosses. That sail." 

"Well, maybe you arc right. "said Philip a tone lower, "but can't 
you understand what I want'' You are a journalist. Try to see mv 
point and understand that my editor expects; work up to the 
standards of the magjr/me " 

"Try to see my point.. Mr Harrington. The management of A PN 
expects me to show you our l nr.hi elements,' however boring they 
seem to you. What can 1 do? Use me the way you see fit, but remem- 
ber, my bosses are in Moscow " 

"'Yes, I sec/' said Philip in an almost friendly tone, btti try to be 
more active, protect me from those damn propaganda visits, from 
embarrasing situations. Show me more." 



70 

"Philip," F said in my friendliest voice, "believe me, I am trying to 
show you much more than is prescribed by our propaganda. 1 am 
desperate to show you my country in a true light f the way wc 
Russians see our land.* 

"Thank you. But ] would prefer to photograph your country the 
way Americans can understand it, You probably know that our 
government is actively following the policy of "normalisation. " Wc 
want to follow this policy ioo« although our preaa is less dependent 
upon government policy. We try to understand your problems as a 
growing nation, bui T believe me, neither I nor the editors of Look 
magazine want fights with APN or KGB over onc-lcggcd old inva- 
lids. Do you follow me? 11 

"Yes,** I said after a thoughtful pause, ''yes, Mr. Harrington. But as 
a journalist, 1 understand, I hope, that an honest journalist must be 
interested in everything: turbines, statues, war veterans . . , pcihap* 
even high voltage utility lines and country roads, which, as you per- 
fectly know, are 'not Tor foreigners* eyes!" 

I caught the eye of our waitress and asked for 200 grams of vudka, 
which came much faatcr than the food. I explained that 1 was paying 
for the vodka out of my own pocket, not from the Look magazine 
account, Mr. Harrington seemed to be offended. 

"t am sorry to sound so demanding, but as you may know. I spent 
my first two weeks here with your colleague, Mr. Ncycv. He itemed 
to me more active, eflieient and serious about his job. lie was much 
more helpful than you," 

"Philip," 1 said, swallowing vodka and pride "yuu aie not very 
observant. You miss a very important point: Ncyev is ulder and 
higher, 1 do not have as many 'connections*/* 

"I have noticed that," said Philip, "but I also feci intuitively that 
your attitude towards your duty indifferent. You arc less dedicated. M 

"Mr. Harrington." I sipped some more vodka, risking my career, 
and even my freedom. "1 must explain to you, that my and Mr. 
Ncycv'a 'duty' is not lo help you do honest work, but to prevent you 
from seeing the real face of my land, of which out leaders are 
ashamed, for reasons beyond our discussion. It is my leaders, not me, 
who don't give a shit for the 'normalization* so dcai lo your presi- 
dent's heart. All they want is your money, and having that, they use 
you as a vehicle for our propaganda. I hope you'll understand this 
some day, before it is too late." 

There was a long pause, after which M», Hai i iugluii said hcsiian- 
ly, "Don't you think that you interpret the intentions atid actions of 
your government rather subjectively and superficially?" 

(He is a 'leftist'! I thought with horror, why have I loosened my 
tongue with this whore'?) 

**As 1 say. my work is to obstruct your work, by pumping piupa- 



71 

ganda into your cameras, and also . r , (I paused hopelessly) by keep- 
ing track of all your 'secret* photographs for the KGB — all those 
stupid bridges, power lines, bus stations, military installations, etc., 
so that your film can be "exposed my mistake* before you cross the 
USSR, border. Don't you know what? Does your CIA not tell you 
ihese things before you come here? We are all controlled by the 
KGB! There are no private tourist guides or interpreters!" 

M Yes T I know all that. Don't take me for a total fool," said Philip 
peacefully, "but please, don't try to scare me. I am not so sure that 
your KGB is as much worried about my 'secret' picture-taking as 
some over-7ealous translators like you." 
"1 would not be so sure." 

"The main thing is: does Novosti Press Agency want Look maga- 
zine to publish the 50th Jubilee material?" 
"Only that, which Agitprop wants: and in the way they want" 
"Okay, suppose you are right. But wanting that, they would never 
bother exposing my films. They need it to be safe more than we do. 
Besides, if they steal my film, they won't be able to develop it. It's a 
secret Kodak process made only by US companies." 
"Oh,Mr. Harrington, you grossly underestimate our K.GB!" 
"Oh, Mr. Bezmenov. you grossly underestimate our Kodak I" 
There was no sense in arguing any further. We sat and stared at 
each other in disgust, vodka glasses raised above dirty dishes 

"Sorry I am in such a fighting mood tonight." I said, "it's because 
of thai obnoxious stranger in the park, the KGB." 
"Yes, 1 see." said Philip, as though he saw. 
"But if I were you. 1 would still pass some of the film to some other 
American, who leaves the USSR separately. You never know.'* 

"Okay. Ill do that," said Philip in the voice of one who was tired or 
arguing. 

We walked to our respective deluxe and first-class suites in the 
Yalta Intourist Hotel, paid for out of the I note magazine account. 



After all the stomping of military parades and peoples demon- 
strations were over, after the schizophrenic boosting with phallus- 
like rockets in Red Square, after the Soviet propagandists had finished 
bullshitting and the Western commentators' respectful gossipping 

ui'hv done. a don t me til of the fallowing, rontent appeared on myde&k 
a I Novosti' 

Excerpt from APN Forty Bureau's met ling resolution. 
The subject under discussion (on agendo): 

Report nn the results of propaganda campaign dedicated 
to the *i01h anniversary of the Great October Socialist 
Revolution. 



:-:v::.-:V:V.'-,;:::i:--.\y ■•. 






fl\.-:'. ;. 






72 



For excellent work in the process of thejubilee campaign, 
particularly with foreign organs of mass media — namely 
preparation of press materials truthfully reflecting the 
glorious achievements of our Motherland in an historic- 
ally short period of time, and for successful publication of 
these materials in the organs of foreign mass media, the 
Party Bureau recommends that the management of APN 
compliment (with the proper registration in personnel 
hies) the following employees of APN: 

BEZMENOV, Yuri Alexandrovich. — for preparation 
of photographic material and accompanying of a corres- 
pondent of Look magazine (USA) 
In the lower right-hand corner of J he pa per then; was a red pencil 
remark, in the handwriting of our local Party boss: 'Com. Bezm&nov! 
Drop into Union office. There '«: a inurki ticket to Italy for Novem 
lie i . ' 

With pounding heart 1 ran to our "closed" library, where secret 
foreign periodicals are kept (such as Time, Life, Playboy, Popular 
Mechanics. The New York Times. Worker's Daily, Morning Star, 
L'Humanile. Patriot, Aka-Hata). After years of loyal work for 
Novosti and a trip ahmad. and after 1 had been admitted aa a mem- 
ber of the Communist Party of the USSR, 1 had finally been given a 
"permit" allowing me limited access to such material. Hurriedly 1 
filled in a request form and in fifteen minutes had a copy of Look 
maga?ine in my hands. 

Above a background of Red Square, the St. Basil Cathedral, and 
the tasteless Sugar-cube of the Rossia Hotel, there were the following 

headlines: 

50 YEARS AFTFR THF REVOLUTION THAT CHANGED 
THE WORLD 

— The new freedoms 

— Fear of China 

— Upheaval in education 

— A taste of profit 
—■ Siberia since Siftlin 

— How we look to them 

— Bikinis, ballerinas, blinis 

— An active issue on RUSSIA TODAY 

I opened the magazine to the lead article. The first few lines 

smelled of our propaganda morgue. I re-read the lines many times, 

trying to convince myself that I was misunderstanding something! 

that perhaps 1 did not eatch the meaning of some expression. 

"It works. Ponderously, fitfully, unevenly. But 50 year* 

after the revolution that changed the world forever, the 

system it fostered \vhee7es with life. We strain to hear the 



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73 




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m- Ifahv 

goriest democratic election were held in the Soviet Union >^ 
/ today— involving legitimate alternatives, sufficient time \ 
and opportunity for their ex posure and the assurance 
thai those elected would serve—the Communist party would 
win. This is not speculation. It is a conclusion based on 
on-the-spot observation and interviews by ten Look editors, 
photographers whose journeys through the 
Soviet Union for thie issue totaled more than a year. 



Leonard Cross in the "Look". Did not he know that there 
is only ONE party in the USSR? Did he really believe, 
that my PEOPLE would vole to power the Party, that mur- 
dered some 66 millions of my countrymen? 









74 



m*** 



utf* 



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(S the dossier legitimate or fake? Was there 
collaboration, and, if so, how many Allies* 
jittzens were Nazi bedfellows? If it all soure 



This Is *| mt Mr.Gross write* today. I have a better questi- 
oji for the literary critic; "How many US citizens ARE 
Communist bedfellows?" 



75 

sounds of discord and seize on every setback; but it's time 
to ponder some disconcerting realities. Crumps there are, 
and struggles — bitter struggles fought by angry, frustra- 
ted men. Yet, implausible as it seems to us, most Soviet 
citizens think they have a good thing going for them. 
They feel safe. (?) They don't worry about hunger or lone- 
liness or calamity. Raised in a controlled environment, 
they are without objective measured ut by their own 
meager reckoning of what constitutes freedom, most of 
them now feel free. POLITICAL TERROR HAS 
SHRIVELLED. The indices by which men everywhere 
gauge progress are rising. To the average Soviet citizen, 
no conceivable space spectacular planned lor the jubilee 
year could surpass the importance of what is happening 
on earth . . ." 
Had the Americans gone cuckoo? 

"If an honest democratic election were held in the Soviet 
Union today — involving legitimate alternatives, suffi- 
cient time and opportunity for their exposure and the 
assurance that those elected would serve — the Commu- 
nist party would win. This is not speculation. It is a con- 
clusion based on on-the-spot observations and interviews 
by ten Look editors and photographers whose journeys 
through the Soviet Union for this issue totalled more 
than a year," 
This was an insult to the intelligence of my countrymen. Official 
facts ran through the issue, without accreditation. Captions tasted of 
the Novosti kitchen, A fabricated Novostt public opinion poll was 
placed beside a real American one to show that Russians know more 
about the United States than Americans know about Russia. A 
Soviet-American mountaineering team jointly climbed Mount 
Lenin, symbolizing "normalization. 1 * American fur fashions were 
exhibited on Soviet models, as if they were available in the Soviet 
Union, They posed before religious monuments in flagrant dis- 
respect. Vodka, caviar, blini and sturgeon were depicted almost as 
typical fare. Dissidents were said to disagree a bout means only, never 
ends. And. for balance, it was admitted that the KGB does sometimes 
engage in harmless misehiefubro&d (only): a one-page article men- 
tioned this, without the aid of pictures. 

I had thought this sort of operation was possible only in India and 
some African countries. A black mood came over me. 
I needed the trip to Italy. 






76 
NO BIRDS WITH TWO STONES 

The fifth of May is one of ihose holidays in the Soviet Union when 
everyone works, but the calendar is marked "Day of the Soviet 
Press," to honor "the most truthful in the world." At about 7 p.m. on 
this day, in (968, 1 had Mr. Mohan Kumaramangalam to supper a l 
state expense. As a director of Air India and an old friend and fellow 
traveller, 1 he merited an Intourm restaurant, with bright camteta li- 
ra* and marble columns, rather as if the League of Nations had been 
converted into a railway station. 

On our table, in a cut-glass collective grave, lay several rhnusand 
unborn beluga, decorated with a flag of the Republic of India. 
Around them, bottles of mineral water, cognac and Soviet cham- 
pagne phe best of the world") observed a minute of silence. Some- 
where in the depths of a noisy kitchen, an unfortunate chicken pre- 
pared to meet us *a-la-Kicv." A twenty-piece orchestra conspired to 
inhibit our digestion, while a worn-out lady singer, and her three 
chins, reported that Moscow is the best city in the world. 

A glass of cognac was poured, for several purposes- towelcomethe 
guest to the USSR, to anticipate his visit to the Soviet Asian repub- 
lics, to celebrate the cultural achievements of the Soviet Asian repub 
lies, in expectation of the book which the guest had promised to write 
about the cultural achievements of the Soviet Asian republics, and to 
toast the co-operation and friendship of the peoples of India and the 
USSR. By way of introducing myself. I lold Mr Kumaramangalam 
that my own childhood was spent in Kazakhstan during the Great 
Patriotic War f World War II to Western readers) while my father, 
later an officer of the General Staf. defended the Motherland eke- 
where. 1 was glad that I would accompany our guest to the land of mv 
childhood, 

Mr. Kumaramangalam responded that his fife was also related to 
war. inasmuch as his brother was a general and Chief-of-Staff of (he 
Indian Army. 

I remarked that my life, character and ideology were strongly in- 
fluenced by !he ascetic military spirit (it was a gross lie). Moreover, 
after I graduated from secondary school my father insisted that ! join 
the Army Academy and become an officer, a career that until recent- 
ly had been the dream of every Soviet youth (another lie). 

Mr. Kumaramangalam responded that in his family the military 
spirit wasn't very popular. 




77 

After two or three more such exchanges I asked who was more 
important in his family, the Chief-of-Staff or Ihe director of Air India? 
Could Mohan Kumaramangalam influence his brother or vice versa? 

"Eeeh ... it is difficult to say. In India, as you probably know, the 
system is different. The military traditionally stays out of politics, 
and, as a matter of fact, so should the civil service." 

"Oh yes, that is the British tradition, if 1 am right, but in several 
former British colonies the military have played a rather active role in 
politics. Can they not rule if they wish?" 

"In India, it is highly improbable. 1 ' 

So f changed the subject, and we discussed the route of our future 
trip. Mr, Kumaramangalam was most interested in Samarkand and 
Bukhara, but was not unwilling to inspect irrigation ditches in (l7be- 
kistan and Turkmenia. The dinner passed in such a "warm and 
cordial atmosphere of mutual understanding" that it was hard to say, 
after cafe xiacee. whether that understanding, on the part of our 
guest, extended to the ways in which we planned to use him. 

My Novosti boss was pleased that Mohan Kumaramangalam 
would indeed write a book on the "achievements of the USSR Asian 
republics under socialism.' 1 My KGB contact. Eduarrf Sid orov, con- 
tinued to brief me. 

The next morning I reported to Novosti s accounting office, to the 
person of a very solid lady, armed with a cash register and bunkered 
within walls of fat ledger books. I carried, triumphantly, a piece of 
paper bearing the following remarks (which 1 had typed myself): 

TO THE DIRECTORATE OF NOVOSTI PRESS 
AGENCY FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF SOUTH 
EAST ASIA 

A member of ihe directorial board of Air India, Mr. 
Kumaramangalam, has just completed his stay in Mos- 
cow by the invitation of ihe Chamber of Commerce of the 
USSR. A progressive political and social personality of 
India, Mr. Kumaramangalam expressed his willingness 
to write a series of articles on Soviet-Indian technical 
co-operation, and, after completion of his talks with the 
Soviet trade experts, to make a trip to Soviet Central 
Asia for the purpose of writing a book on theeconomiral 
development of our Asian republics under Soviet power. 

The department of South East Asia of APN considers 
it useful for our work in India to arrange such a trip for a 
period of two weeks, visiting: Sochi. Tbilisi. Ashkaha- 
bad, Tashkent, Samarkand and Moscow 

We request your sanction to finance the trip by the 
"deluxe 1 " class for the guest, and "tourist" class for the 



.. I 



78 

guide-interpreter, comrade Y, Bczmenov, an editor of 
our department. 

Also we request to pay the royalties from our fund for 
the articles, written by Mr Kumaramangalam for APN, 

to be redirected exclusively for Indian newspapers 
Senior editor V. Makhotin 
Chief Editor V. Pushkov 

It was further embroidered with the signatures and comments of 
sundry Novosti bosses: "recommended," "approved," "please pay," 
etc, I signed in the appropriate book, adding Mr. Kumaramanfta- 
iam's name in devanagari characters for authenticity; the lady pulled 
the book away impatiently, and handed me a heavy envelope, into 
which she had already inserted our guesfs "royalty." With the same 
magic paper I ran to the third floor to arrange with the financial 
director such requisites as coupons for taxis, air tickets and hotel 
bookings, some two hours' work. Then back to my section to deliver 
the envelope to my immediate boss, comrade Makhotin, End of stage 
one. 

Stage two began two hours later in the VIP lounge of one of the 
best restaurants in Moscow, the Aragvi, with its Georgian-Caucasian 
food. Comrade Mokhotin, who spoke English fluently, did the 
talking, while I enjoyed the chicken "Tabatw" with a dry Georgian 
wine. Part way through the meal, comrade Makhotin casually pro- 
duced the envelope, and joked, "petty cash for the road. "The guest 
pocketed the envelope, and continued to discuss details of the trip 
without any increase in enthusiasm, diplomatically avoiding promi- 
ses about the contents of his book. I drank, and meditated, how 
wonderful it would be if all the "progressive" whores visiting my 
country could behave as non-obligingly. The cat-and-mouse game 
ended with a diplomatic formula, that the contents of Mr. Kumara- 
manga lam's book would depend on many things; comrade Makho- 
tin gave me the cheerful glance ofa KGB interroaatorand concluded 
that, indeed, a lot would depend on the diligence of the guide-transla- 
tor. 

J was ready, willingand able to do anything lopreventthe publica- 
tion ofa book of sweet lies about m> country under the name of so 
pleasant and clever an Indian, and toasted my boss's remark. 

Mr. K u ma ra manga lam enjoyed his visit to the historical monu- 
ments of Samarkand and Bukhara, Ashkabad and Tbilisi; we 
avoided most of the "dezJiurni" (cliche) attractions, such as**typical 
and average 1 ' collective farms and kindergarten, through the judi- 
cious scheduling of Mr. K u m a ra manga lam's headaches and those of 
his wife. Comrade Makhotin was happy, for our guest continued to 
promise to write his book. 1 was delighted to spend two weeks away 



H: 



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'•\ v - v 

' ' :- - ■ 
■■■-■■■■: 



79 

from Novosti. Only comrade Sidorov was unhappy, with the follow 
ing report from mc: 

1, Influence of Kum&ramangalam on the military in 
India, according to him, is negligible. Relations with 
brother. General Kumaromangalam, cordial, but influ 
ence — unspecified. 

2. Purchase of Soviet-made jct-Lincrs by Air India, 
according to guest , depends only slightly on his personal 
decision. Last word will be after the technical experts, 
boaid or directors and Indian mass media have had their 
say. It was recommended to arrange free exhibition tours 
of "*I1 vushui" and "Tupolev" planes in India for selected 
groups of journalists and public figures. During trip with- 
in Soviet Uuiuii the performance of some Soviet planes 
un domestic ah lines were far from satisfactory, according 
to guest, 

3, Personal shortcomings and weaknesses of the guest 
are negligible. He is happily ntaiiicd and moderate with 
alcohol. His financial status is too secure to make him 
interested in APN royalties already received. Discussing 
the possible publication of his book on USSR., five-digits 
sums uf money weie mentioned. Desire to become 
famous writer — negligible. 
The RGB did not leave Mr. Kunjaramaugalam alone, despite the 
pessimism of my report. The courtship continued in New Delhi, 
when 1 arrived there in 1969. The Soviet tiade mission organized a 
"show flight," with plenty to drink, but it did not help, in one of the 
maior Indian newspapers ilieie appealed a businesslike icport* 
comparing the technical data of the llyushin, the American-made 
Boeing and British-made YC-IO. It appeared that the Soviet aircraft 
consumed much more fuel, used longer runways, cieulcd muic 
exhaust pollution, made more noise and was not as well suund- 
insulaied as Us competitors. In addition, it slap- lauded. "The Soviet 
planes may be perfect as bombers* but surely they are lousy as 
passenger planes," the report concluded. 

The Soviet trade mission was furious; but Aii India still didn't buy 
Soviet planes. I was secretly pleased that Indian "democracy'" had 
worked, and that the path to socialism theie had been made juit a 
little longer. 

AS for Mr. Kumaramangalam, he continued to be harassed by the 
KGB and Novosti until he died in a mysterious plane crash some 
seven years later, 



30 




Two famous Indians who were targeted by the APN-KGB 
for ideological "analysis": Mohan Kuraaramangalam (ahov«) T 
and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (below). 




& ■:# 






HI 

IN THE NAME OF PEACE 

At about 4 p.m., when I had almost finished my daily marathon 
around the corridors of Novosti, and was meditating over a pile of 
"closed"' TAS5 dispatches, news meant only for trusted eyes, my 
telephone jang demanding!}'. 

1 1 was comrade Sidorov. He informed me, in his usual syrup-and- 
poison voice, that he wanted to meet me at about live, somewhere 
between Pushkin Square and Petrovka. As I approached the place of 
rendezvous, Eduard Ivanovitch inquired about thestateofmy health 
and disposition, and whether I was tired by my daily routine. 

Defense Minister Swaran Singh of India was coming to Moscow 
with a large entourage of military experts, both in uniform and out. 
Comrade Sidorov wanted me to accompany the delegation as a 
"reporter for Novosti. Comrade Stdorov could not hope that I 
would be assigned to the job by Novosti, and I did not want to ask 
him who would be behind me. I o let him have it all his way was strict- 
ly against my principles. 

1 personified modesty: 

"For God's sake, fcduard Jvanovich!" I said, trying to took loyal, 
dedicated, humble and honest, "there are many more deserving 
colleagues in our oil ice, who would be better fitted for such an 
honorable job. f just do not have the experience, or, for that matter, 
the Party standing of my colleagues ..." 

"This job, Yuri Ale xandrovich, requires not so much experience or 
Party standing," answered the sleuth sincerely, u as a good musical 
ear and a thorough knowledge of colloquial Indian laugauges. You 
see, all we want front you d uring this trip, is to be present during all 
official and other meetings between the Indians and our boys, and 
pay utmost attention to whatever they say a bout our defense techno- 
logy. I ry to figure out who is a real expert and who is just a bureau- 
crat. I hope with your military vocabulary, taughtto you in the Insti- 
tute ot Oriental Languages, it will not be difficult. Have you still 
retained some of it? 1 * 

"Oh. what are you saving, Eduard Ivanovitch! How could 1 pos- 
sibly forget such an interesting, subject!" 

Comrade Sidorov pierced me with his constrictor*? eyes, but 
decided not to notice my sarcasm. 

"Anything curious, whatever you notice about the members of the 
delegation, their political and ideological views, their attitude toward 
our country, their personal qualities, anything that may give our 
Committee a more complete picture of the visit and of the composi- 
tion of the group." 

"Oh yes, the last request," said Sidorov crisply. "There will be a 
young second secretary of the Indian embassy, someone you know, 



£ESfflfflffl3^:^Ha£^^ >.-. ■■■.■:■ S3KWSBS3S :v-.-'. •::■..:■:■:;•■> -::;.•.:.■,,.■■::■• - : V.--v. . J 

82 

probably from unofficial cocktail parties. He is only twenty-five 
years old. but rather a promising figure in the embassy. Try to he 
friendly to him and have a closer look, OK?" 

"Sure, no problem." I said, and Eduard Ivanovilch nnee again 
pierced me with bus sharp little eyes and nose, nodded and disap- 
peared in the Moscow crowd. 

I have never seen what it looks like when arms are sold. I have seen 
only the results of those transactions — in photographs of the Viet- 
nam war in foreign and Soviet magazines Also, when 1 read about 
"selfless and consistent support to nationa I- libera tionist movements 
all over the world," I knew this actually meant supplying AK-47s to 
all sorts of bloodthirsty "progressives" desperately bent on power. 

By eJevent o'clock in the morning, a train of black limousines slow- 
ly and silently rolled up to the grey monster of the USSR defense 
ministry in Arbatski Square. The Indian guests walked in a long file, 
according to seniority, through a heavy oak and bronze door, spread 
open in welcome. Sergeants of the guard stood at attention, with the 
emotionless eyes of cannibals. 

The delegation slowly walked lo the second floor, along the widest 
imaginable staircase, laid with the inevitable red carpet, leading 
directly into a giant conference hall. Along the endless conference 
table, with its red cover, there were heavy chairs, and before each, 
symmetrically displayed pads of paper and pencils. Mineral water 
and glasses were also provided. 

The visiting tribe displayed itself for photographers, In half a 
minute, the opposite door to the hall opened slowly, and in walked a 
group of our chieftains, led by Marshal Grechko. all of them decora- 
ted with the bones of eaten enemies and dried skulls of comrade 
Lenin on their chests The Soviet minister-soldier approached the 
Indian minister bureaucrat* and I saw a tiny stream of urine pouring 
onto the parqueted floor under the guest, who danced convulsively in 
Nehru's pajamas. The Soviet minister bumped into the guest, 
grabbed his ready hand and showed his teeth to him and to the 
photographers. There followed flashes. The guests and the hosts 
lined up for the "press 1 * and again showed their teeth, the Soviets 
beaming, the guests more modest. The next morning there would be 
a large picture in Pravda, and a chance for Western krcmliiiologistSi 
to speculate. 

In a minute all of the war-makes settled at the tabic, and started 
pronouncing words without meaning, words of which the meaning 
had been changed, and words that had been purposefully twisted. 
"Staunchly abiding by the principles of proletarian international- 
ism . . , consistently Following the course of the Communist Party of 
the USSR towards peaceful coexistence . , , being in the advancc- 




". ''■:*': 



I- ;••■#•'• 



'..-■: . 
:::;■ : '-.:■ 
IS 



83 

guard Of the fn rces of peace and progress . . . fulfilling our duty to all 
progressive mankind victorious Soviet people . . . hand of friend- 
ship .peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America . . . brotherly 
cooperation between the Republic of India and the USSR 
The Indian war minister replied: 

"Following the path of independent development ... in the interest 
of prefierving (he sovereignty and territorial integrity . , , considering 
certain aggressive tendencies . . . for the sake of peace and progress 
non-alignment with military blocs . , .** 

In my inner ear I heard: 
Soviet-savage: We are strongest, all fear us, wc help all who fear us 
and who help us to keep the rest of the tribes in fear. You belter buy 
our poisoned arrows, or we will beat the shit out of you. 
Indian savage; Yes, you are strong, but wc do not want to be obliged 
to you. We want to buy the poisoned arrows wherever wc want. 
Moreover, if it were not for our unfriendly next-door neighbor we 
would not need any arrows at all. But thank you anyway, and please, 
don't hurt us! 

Grechko could then show his teeth, growl and bite his Indian coun* 
terpart on the leg. Swaran Singh would then give a friendly bark and 
walk alongside with his tail between hia legs. 
The bargaining lasted ninety minutes. 

The meaning of comrade Sidorov's assignment became clear to me 
in Sevastopol, where the Indian delegation was brought tu inspect a 
number of military vessels, offered for sale. There were torpedo 
boats, cruisers, submarines and rocket-launching boat?*, all freshly 
painted and $hined Tor the guests. 

During the inspection tour some members of the delegation were 
obviously impressed. They would touch the iron monsters with 
respect, pat ihe round bodies of the rockets and fill numerous note- 
books with the figures on how many could be killed with this or thai 
rocket. It seemed that the statistics quoted by the Soviet salesmen 
were satisfactory. Several times I overheard Indian* quietly saying to 
each other, in Hindustani, words like "below standard," "junk" and 
''uncomfortable." Those officers, I gathered, wanted lo guarantee the 
territorial integrity of India in more comfortable boats, capable of 
using interchangeable parts, purchased in othci countries, Evidently, 
the "progress iveness" and patriotism of those officers had not yet 
reached the level where one understands lhat such trifles as sailors' 
comfort (they will die anyway, won't they?) has nothing lo do with 
the historically-inevitable national-libcralion-movement-towards- 
ihe-bright-future-of-all- mankind. 

During an impressive banquet on board a shiny cruiser, I was 
seated between the Indian and Soviet officers and acted as a transla- 
tor, allowing officiate to grab a bite and a gulp of wine between cere- 






£4 

monial remarks. In an hour or two, h nth sides were less formal and 
the Indian side was more sympathetic rn the idea of buying Soviet- 
made weaponry. I asked a Soviet officer next to me if it were true that 
some of the boats offered to India were no longer produced or ser- 
viced in the USSR and had heen discarded by the Soviet Navy. 
Chewing a piece of steamed hp/uga. (he officer attentively looked at 
me, noticed the Novosti badge on my chest pocket, and portable tape 
recorder hanging from my shoulder, then reached for a bottle of 
vodka, poured it into as many glasses as he could reach, tilted his 
glass and pronounced a toast: To peace all over the world! To our 
advanced defense equipment!" 
Who would refuse the drink? 



c it o i; o m. y II Jlf W |» If A I* 9 ji a ni : 




, •;, «. 



f«pmt «■«•«■« (tMxiau M. H.MW* *-i .IV"*.-. hwnim ,«« ARM, 

Dtiicti political cartooniil H>Bidsfrup, cortesj A FN, Is publi- 
shed In Sovirt "PravJa", Soviet «Ti1m get 1 years of jail 



05 

DAWNIN OF DETENTE 

Comrade Sidorov wanted me to meet as many Indian diplomats as 
possible during the next week, and to take a sort of "opinion poll" on 
the question: "How would the Indian government react, if the Soviet 
government actively interfered in Czec h oslo va k ia to stop ant i -Soviet 
and anti-socialist clements'activity?" I knew from the TASS reports 
and from foreign radio broadcasts, that Soviet troops had with- 
drawn from Czechoslovakia after rather prolonged "military defen- 
sive maneuvers" by the West German border, which had been held 
under the pretext that NATO troops were having their own war 
games at that time. But NATO troops were long gone, the Czechs 
were more or less content, and we, in Novosti, were under the impres- 
sion that Duboek would get a way with his libera I reforms. What kind 
of "active interference" might comrade Sidorov mean? Invasion? 
Impossible! Purges under KGB supervision? Too old fashioned, 
highly improbable. Then what? . . . 

"Well" I said to myself, "what possible harm could I cause to 
Czechoslovakia or India by asking my Indian friends a couple of 
political questions?" So I did. None of them even suggested that 
India might protest or condemn Soviet "active interference," even 
when I took it upon myself to suggest what this might mean. 

Comrade Sidorov seemed to be satisfied with my report on Indian 
diplomatic reaction. And 1 comfortably forgot the matter 

On August 20 i received a call from a fellow whose name 1 could 
hardly recollect. We met at Delhi University in 1964. He had intro- 
duced himself as Igor Ivanov, a student from Moscow, who had 
arrived in India on a "cultural exchange.*' Igor was a tall, blue-eyed 
and bJond-haircd Aryan ubermench with strong jaws and an athletic 
body. He cracked stupid jokes in broken Hindi and addressed a Sikh 
taxi driver disrespectfully as "worn" and "xardar. " As far as I 
remembered, Igor spent most of his time at students' parties, where 
young radicals discussed politics.. For entertainment Igor collected 
pornographic magazines, sold inConnaught Place on the sidewalks. 
That's about all 1 could remember of Igor Ivanov (probably not his 
real name) on my way to meet him at "Friendship House" in Kali 
ninski Prospect, I do not remember exactly what was the occasion of 
the meeting that day: probably the signing of some new Soviet 
Indian friendship and cooperation protocol, or the celebration of an 
anniversary of an old one. 

I met Igor after the official part of the evening in the basement 
cafeteria- cum -bar, and he introduced me to a group of African and 
Asian students from the University of Lumumba. We talked about 
nothing for a while, the Africans bored to death and showing it. The 
Indians were more polite. In abut half an hour Ujor came up to me 



fnt »lva s .<,_.„ i_ (V,.., U^J. T- 









: '-.':: ' 



and whispered that he and the Africans were leaving for a private 
party at someone's apartment, and that I was invited. That was fine 
with me and we left quietly. 

The party appeared to he a gathering of students from Lumumba 
University celebrating graduation from a preparatory cnur.se. There 
were some Latin Americans too. The girls were mainly Russian: 
they were bravely dressed "decadent U.S. style." They introduced 
themselves as students, but I immediately remgni7ed them a* 
laswchkL The music was loud and decadently Western 1 could hard- 
ly hear Igor as he introduced me to a group of students from Somalia 
or Mozambique, all studying "political economy and philosophy." 
The philosophers were rather unsociable. They were too occupied 
with watching girls, chewing gum and shaking their muscular bodies 
in the rythm of the music. When they danced, they did it well. Their 
"body la nguage** spoke of the awakening spirit of Africa. Compared 
to the boys, our Russian girls looked like cows on a skating rink, but 
clad in foreign stretch skirts and blue jeans. 

By ten o'clock most of the guests and hosts were solidly intoxica- 
ted* and I noticed that, one after another, mixed couples disappeared 
into another room or, if that was occupied, into the bathroom. They 
emerged slightly ruffled by proletarian internationalism. Following 
the example of my African brothers, I tried to woo one of the girls 
i nto the kitchen, but after a noncommittal kiss and a superficial study 
of each other*s anatomy, the tastochka pushed me away with un- 
expectedly strong arms, whispering impatiently," Mot here, another 
time!" and gave me her telephone number (which I was sure was a 
false one). 

At about one in the morning the guests started leaving. The music 
was turned lower, as were the lights in the guest room. The dancing 
rhythm became slow and intimate. 1 mixed myself o vodka with 
lemon and went around the apartment in search of Igor, who had 
said he wanted to talk to mc. 1 found him on the balcony, molesting a 
nice-looking young Communist from Latin America. I apologized 
and began to leave themto international friendship, but Igor stopped 
me. lie let go of the girl, and she left quietly to the guest room in the 
direction of the liquor tabic. 

"Cduard Ivanovich sends you his best rcgards, rt 3aid Igor by way of 
a password." Me is on vacation, in Sochi." 

1 offered to get Igor a glass of vodka„ but he said that he did not 
drink. 

"Alcohol kills the brain cells, you know/ 1 he said, smiling. (And I 
thought, why should that stop you?) 

He listened to my account of adventures with foreign diplomats 
rather indifferently. Neither was he impressed when I told him how 



87 



■% 

'■ 



■;■■ 




::..;.:'■;. 
:';■■;'-":•. 



In hk n»mf> and "hrtnnr" KCR train* fhrtu«anrL« of mnu 
murderers in Moscow. 



88 

successfully 1 had spread the KGB rumor that the Soviet premier 

minister was planning to send an invitation to the presidem of ihe US 
to visit Moscow the following month. The traditional "reliable Sour- 
ces" formula, in combination with my APN background and some 
real contacts within the Foreign Affairs Ministry, worked perfectly 
well 

"That's all very well, Yuri AlexAndrovich," he said, "but now if 

yon want, you may go a step further and do work of a slightly dif- 
lercnt character for State Security. Wc have been watching your 

work with theforeignere, and wc think that yuucoulddowithamore 

intellectually stimulating job." 

"1 am not sure abowt a 'step further" . . . You see. Igor, the Com- 
mittee may probably be aware that J . . ." 

Your mischievous character is well known, but that would not 
matter. Now, after several years of work with foreigners, both at 
home and abroad, you probably have iiutieed that many of them are 
rather weak people, lacking what we call an 'ideological backbone ' w 

"Something of the sort came to my mind. true. But 1 assume there 
are more dignified people abroad, maybe even some 'talented and 
strong enemies?" 

"Tasted enemies arc the comeiu of a different department of (he 
KGB; we shall stick to weak friends first, the foreign friends, who 
need our help and moral auppoiL" 

"All right," I said. I had an impiession that Igor was enjoying his 
role as a lecturer, so J let him talk, 

"You probably have discovered already that our Soviet man, with 
all hm shortcomings b a being of a higher order than they. Even our 
Soviet hooligan and alcoholic (here Igor stuck his finger m my chest 
to offer an example} is basically an honest and free man. enjoying 
freedom of a true kind, acquiied by scientific cognition of reality 
We, the Soviet people, arc able to sacrifice our personal interests for 
the interests of our society, our present for our bright future They 
(Igor made a vague gesture towards the dancing foreigners) Can not ,+ 

"Generalizations of this so. i arc beyond my competence . * 

"Read the newspapers! The Americans in Vietnam, a country 
literally possessed and screwed up by them, cannot fight the war 
w.thout beer and women! And drugs. They are pawns, expendable 
pawns, gun fodder , . .* 

"Well . . So what?- (J 5 tiu wondered what the hell the KGB 
xvanted from me now.) 

"So thi £: we are a better and stiunger sort of people. You personal- 
ly, for example, with all your weaknesses, I would preferabove most 
so-called 4 fnends*of our country, many of whom you haveto accom- 
pany as a tranylotor-cum-scrvant " 

"So?" 



: : . 



. ■ ■■ 






"Say. if we invited some Jean- Paul Sartre to a conference of 
progressive writers, he would arrive with his nose running from 
deligm., and write and declare publicly anything we would ask him — 
about our achievements. But try the same trick with you; would you 
give an interview to the 'Voice of America"?" 

"Of course not," I said. (Cheap provocateur!) 

"You seer exclaimed Igor, as if he had proven a very important 
point. 

"A 'step further. 1 " I said gloomily, 

"Yes A step further, Yuri Alexandrovich, ifvou decide to makeii 
would mean that youll have not only to observe the foreign guests 
a nd report to us, but also to play a somewhat more active role in their 
reorientation process, using their weaknesses and personal peculiari- 
ties. It is difficult work, if you want, to that of a psychologist, or a 
teacher with mentally retarded children." 

"I see," I said I pensively, not understanding why we needed men- 
tally retarded friends. 

"You see, we do not allow renegades and anti-Soviet elements to 
undermine our social order by voicing the so-called 'rights* of crimi- 
nals, pederasts and traitors. But in the West their presidents woo 
every dcbil. shake hands with both hippies and progressive writers 
neo-fascists and Communists. Therefore, we also cannot afford to 
ignore any foreigner, as longas he is able and willing to be a carrier of 
our ideas.** 

"My impression is," said I, "that a number of rather progressively- 
thinking foreigners would prefer their names not to be associated 
with us, Novosti Press Agency in particular/ 1 

"Oh, that will change, "said Igor with force, "that is already chan- 
ging. In the time of 'cult 1 our committee used old-fashioned methods 
based on the presumption that 'nothing humane is strange to our 
tnends and adversaries': everybody likes a little bit of extra cash a 
good meal, a company of a young girl, maybe ... a reputation as a 
well-known humanist. And if that did not work we used to have and 
still have, and still have, wonderful files on each of them, and we 
would not hesitate to pass it on to their sensational mass media " 

**ls tt any different now?* 1 

"Well, in a way. yes. You may get it at your Novosti briefing soon 
— the new policy line.' 1 

"Relaxation of international tensions? Rapprochement?" 

**Not only thai. The latest key-word is 'detente. ' '" 

"Big, big men will dance to our music. You 11 see. men like Willy 
Brandt, Nixon, Ed Kennedy, Pompidou, that Canadian pidar 
Trudeau ... to say nothing about small shit like liberal university 
prolessors. media people, actors, lawyers, businessmen, and of 



:'::■.., :'■ 



90 

course, students," 

"Igor." said I. pretending to be more drunk than I was.*' don't you 
think it stinks?"' 

"The ethical side of the work, Yuri Alexandre vicru may give you 
some trouble and often bring up the question *to be or not to' be' 
with our Committee. Remember though, that any respectable world 
power, and we are. must have its intelligence service, and in any poli- 
tical system these services use methods which are, mildly speaking, 
less than kosher. " 

"Could you be more specific about my work, please." 

"Yes. We want you, for the start, to screen the yoxtngchemnzhop- 
ye, including the Lumumba lot, and using your Novosii cover and 
your discretion, select those who are fit for further training in our 
centers for leaders of the national liberation forces/' 

"Why mc? Don^t you have enough of your men within Lumumba 
already?" 

"We want your opinion on them from a specific angle. As a 
journalist and propaganda specialist we want you to assess their 
ability to be ideologically effective." 

"Well, most of them were sounded ideologically, as 1 understand, 
before entering Lumumba. Would you like me to select further the 
most dedicated marxists?" 

"No. .lust the opposite. We need people who can innocently say 
white is black and make others believe it. We do not need 'true belie- 
vers': they turn into the worst enemies if and when disillusioned. We 
want ideological workers, motivated by simple, permanent and 
reliable instincts: the desire for power and the ability to survive. Plus 
an ability to use ideological propaganda techniques, the wav you do 
within Novosti. This is one of the most important factors of our 
future work in the developing world, according to the latest usianov- 
ka of the Central Committee." 

"Yes. I see, "I said, noticing that my glass was empty. "I will think it 
over and let you know soon." 

"Very well, Yuri Alexandrovich. Please call Sklorov when you arc 
ready, OK?" 

It was getting cold or the balcony, so 1 said good-bye to Igor and 
walked into the guest room, where the future liberators of the Third 
World were dancing cheek-to-cheek with KGB girls to blues font the 
USA. The room smelled of sweat, smoke, alcohol, and proletarian 
solidarity. I poured myself a stiff vodka and tossed it down my 
throat, chasing it with a bite of pickle. Nobody paid any attention to 
mc as I slipped out of the apartment and walked into sleeping 
Moscow, Sleep well, dear Moscow. Me and Igor are vigilantly 
guarding your security against imperialists. 









&-F.4& '■ >f*^'M ■'■■ ■ ■ " 




92 

The next morning I heard on the 3 ho rt -wave about the Soviet 
invasion into Czechoslovakia, The tearful voice of a Prague radio 
girl implored the indifferent world: **This is Radio Prague. Brotherly 
radio stations in Yugoslavia, Romania, Hungary! Please tell ihe 
world about our tragedy. Please help us to reach people in broiherly 
socialist countries , . , This is our last broadcast , . . The Soviet lanks 
open fire at the windows of our radio station . . . Long live Dubcek 1 
Long live socialism! Long live Czechoslovakia!** 

Four days later, a Novosti colleague introduced inc 10 his girl- 
friend Galya, just returned from Prague on a Soviet personnel 
carrier. She was shaking, weeping, describing the night of the inva- 
sion. And the shame she felt, as a teachci of Russian in Prague 
University, when her students walked out of hci class on the morning 
after the invasion. 

HeJ pless rage overtook mc. What can a small man like myself do to 
stop this madness? Burn myself in protest in the Red Square? Blow 
up the Kremlin'.' Hopeless. This world, as my Indian friend would 
say, is going progressively mad . , ♦ 

By the end of the day a decision crystal i/.cd: I shall take the new 
KGB job. I shall remember every blackassed son-of-a-bltch per- 
sonally, ni take their picture*, if possible, and after defection to the 
West, I shall tell the world who are the cadres of the "black majority" 
and "liberators of peoples"! And what these whores we re doing in my 
country, apart from screwing the KGB lamochki. 



To be continued,,. 



1 :'■■':' 

: . 



To be continued... 



All warfare is based primarily on the deception of an enemy. Fighting 
on a battlefield is the most primitive way of making war. There is no 
art higher than to destroy your enemy without a fight — by SUB- 
VERTING anything of value in the enemy's country 

Sun Tzu 
Chinese philosopher 

500 B.C 

We rarely use guns to kill people and lake their country. The cleanest 
way Is to blackmail, pervert, bribe, lie and intimidate the POLITI- 
CIANS and the MEDI A, and they will destabilize and disunity their 
own country for us. Then all we have left to do is to arm the pro- 
communist or simply criminal tactions and we have a coup and 
'' ' M -"" country. As neat as that, 

Yuri Bezmenov 
former agent of APN-KGB 



another "'liberated' 



T ■:'':)' 



What war rages between 1045 and ♦ . . now? Ah, only a third of man- 
kind was conquered! No war at all. ,Jnnt peaceful liberation. 

Lev Navrozov 
Soviet dissident writer 

Psychological warfare, a form of Covert 1 action which hr*ak« down 
the opposite side's home defenses without a shot being fired, is waged 
by Soviet Communism throughout the communication media of 
other countries. 

John Rees 
Accuracy in Media. Washington 

Whether a journalist, politician or a businessman is in fact on a pay- 
roll of the KCt'B or not, whether he helps lo spread Communism 
willingly, by ignorance or for a profit, whether he is caught and 
punished or at large and happy — is absolutely immaterial for the 
cause ol SUBVERSION. What matters is the final vector of History, 
the sum of our individual actions, decisions, statements, our com- 
promise with our consciousness. This is where every one of us is 
accountable to Ihe future and God. 

Alex Kosachov 
Russian emigree poet 




* + + •***•****** 

MY PUBLICATIONS 



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1, "Love Lelter to America'' ~ my lift story , work for 
the KGB, me mo as of disinformation, and how to deal 
with it, 64 pages including photographs and chart* — 
$5.69 postpaid. 




I, "World Thought Police" — description of the 
shamefut "deals" between the Soviet KGB and some 
Western journalists, spreading Communist disinfotma/ 
tion in their own countries. Photos and documents 
included. 64 pages, $5.69 postpaid. 



In my next book "Moscow — Delhi — Void" 
I will describe the workings of the Soviet 
embassy's Information Department in India, 
orchestration of the invasion into East Pakistan 
in 1970 (described by the Western media as 
"grass root Islamic Revolution") and, finally, my 
defection from the USSR embassy to Americans, 
disguised as a "hippie". Price of the book — 
$7.95 postpaid, send your checkes to NAT A, 
501 So. Fairfax Av. t Room 21&> Los Angeles, 
California 90036. 



I 



Answering your letters 




TOMAS SCHUMAN has been person- 
ally involved with the worldwide pro- 
paganda efforts of the Soviet regime. 
Like a true-life Winston Smith, from 
tJeorge Orwell's "1984". Tomas 

Schuman worked for for the communist 
equivalent of Orwell's Ministry of Truth 
~The Novosli Press Agency. NovostL 
which means "News'* in Russian, 
exists to produce slanted and false 
stories to plant in the foreign media. 
The ieim for this K.G.B, effort ia 
"disinformation". 

Mr. Schuman was born under the 
name or Yuri Bezmenov in Moscow in 
1939, l he son of a senior officer in the 
Red Army. Consequently, he went to 

guod schools, At the age of 17 he 
elite red the Institute of Oriental Lang- 
uages of Moscow Stale University. 



ISBN 936090 17 7 

Copyright by Tomas Schuman 



After graduating, he worked for No- 
vosti, then spent two years in India 
as an interpreter and public relations 
officer with Soviet Refineries Const- 
ructions. He returned to Moscow in 
1965 10 work for Novosti, serving as 
Economic Editor for the Hindi, Urdu 
and English Edition* of Sovieilaud 
Magazine. In 1969 he went back to 
India and continued propaganda efforts 
for Novosli in New Delhi, working out 
of the Soviet Embassy in a department 
called Research and Counter-Propagan- 
da. Due to his growing disgust, he be- 
gan to plan defection. 

In February of 1970 he disguised 
himself as a hippie complete with beads 
and wig and joined a tour group to 
escape to Athens, He contacted the 
United Statu Embassy and, after a 

loiig debriefing by U.S. Intelligence, 
was granted asylum and went to Cana- 
da. 

In Canada, he studied political science 
a i the University of Toronto for two 
years, taught Russian language and 
literature and in 1972 was hired by the 
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's 
International Service as a Producer/ 
Announcer, broadcasting to the Soviet 
Union. The K.G.B. forced Him out of 
the job in 1976, so lie began free-lanre 
journalism and worked on a variety of 
projects. 

Today he is a political analyst for 
PANORAMA weekly in Los Angeles. 
He is in in lied, and has two children. 
He is the author of two yet unpub- 
lished hooks 






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Los Ancjeles, 1985